


Losing Sleep

by vanishingbyler



Category: High School Musical: The Musical: The Series (TV)
Genre: Anxiety, Autistic Ricky Bowen, Bad Parenting, Disordered Eating, Eating Disorders, Moving, Panic Attacks, Post-Canon, Single Parents, Trans Ricky Bowen (HSM: The Series), Underage Drinking, this is just several thousand words of me making ricky sad whenever i'm sad, vent fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:00:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 22,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22106701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanishingbyler/pseuds/vanishingbyler
Summary: Ricky Bowen has always hated change, making it just his luck that everything he knows changes all too much.
Comments: 88
Kudos: 211





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ignore the terrible title & tags & summary,, tags won't let me add lynn or todd but they are prominent characters in this,,, first couple of chapters were written on a train and posted at midnight so forgive any mistakes
> 
> this is probably going to get darker as it goes on because mostly this is venty projection stuff, any and all warnings will be added to the tags as they come about & will be in the notes at the start of each chapter
> 
> also: ricky is trans and autistic. not particularly plot relevant but it's just The Way I Roll
> 
> apologies for the horrible formatting, i'll fix it when i have access to a computer but it's ugly on my phone

Ricky is so utterly, completely, totally out of it by the time the applause dies down. He floated through the second act in a haze, every line and dance routine pulled off through sheer adrenaline and muscle memory. The whole time he could feel his mother's creep of a boyfriend watching him, eyes boring into him like lasers. By the time it's over he wants nothing more than to go home.

"Hey!"

His dad is far too cheery, pulling Ricky into the tightest hug of his life.

"You were incredible, kiddo!"  
"Thanks."  
Mike pulls away. "You okay? I thought you'd be buzzing."  
"I kinda just wanna go to bed."

He feels terrible for his lacklustre energy, but tonight has all been a bit much. He'll probably be fine by tomorrow's show, but right now it feels like the world is crashing down.

"Sorry, kid." Mike winces, rifling Ricky's hair. "Your mom and Todd wanna take you to dinner."  
"I don't want to."

His dad can't respond before Lynn and The Boyfriend show up, bubbling with excitement. 

"Who knew you were so amazing?!" His mom gushes.  
"Good work, kid."

He can't help the sour expression that comes across him at Todd's words. He doesn't  _ want  _ praise from a guy he's never met. He doesn't want congratulations and a dinner, he wants to go  _ home.  _ He wants home to be the same as it was six months ago, just the three of them.

"I'll have him home for 11."  
"Ten, maybe? It's a school night."

Lynn's icy glare is enough to freeze over the whole parking lot, and Mike puts his hands up in defeat, unwilling to fight. He pulls Ricky into another hug, and after pulling away keeps his hands firmly on Ricky's hunched shoulders.

"Love you, kiddo. You killed it tonight. I'll see you later."

Ricky manages to return a weak smile to his father's proud beam, but it slips again as soon as Mike leaves.

Todd and his mom chatter on the short walk to the care, not bothering to notice or question that Ricky has been silent the whole time. They don't acknowledge when his face crumples at Todd's decision to go for Chinese food, and Lynn makes no effort to tell him that Ricky is too fussy an eater to enjoy it.

The drive is uncomfortable. Todd doesn't drive a car, rather a minivan, and it's so big that Ricky can't even hear the adults speak from the front seat to where he's sitting in the back. He's boxed in by a couple of suitcases and crates labelled with the name of a movers' company. Ricky feels sick at the realisation that they're probably a sign that Todd has already moved in with his mom.

"Here we are."

The restaurant is nice enough, one Ricky knows his parents used to frequent on date nights. He bristles on his dad's behalf, frustrated that she's sharing this place with somebody new.

He zoned out for most of the initial small talk, and for them discussing the menu. He only comes back to planet Earth to tell the waiter he'd just have some boiled rice and spring rolls.

"Ricky!" His mom looks appalled, and Todd is smirking.

Smirking? Why the fuck is he smirking? He doesn't get to smirk! He shouldn't even be here, what right does he think he has to laugh at Ricky's choices?

"Get some real food!"  
"I don't like it! This is what I always get!"  
Her head is in her hands. "Order something proper."  
"I like rice."  
"Ricky…"

The waiter looks uncomfortable, rushing to reassure them that Ricky's order is no bother. Lynn goes to argue with Ricky a little more, but Todd pipes up.

"Just let him get it. Pick your battles, Lynnie."

Sure, he's on Ricky's side here, but that doesn't mean Ricky has to thank him for it. He's still obnoxious, and his cutesy nickname for Ricky's mom makes him doubly so.

An hour later, Ricky is still picking at his rice, dragging his fork around the bowl and refusing to make eye contact.

He's exhausted, visibly so, and he doesn't get why he's still here. If this is an attempt to make him like Todd, it isn't working.

"Ricky, baby, can you look at me a second?"

He lifts his head but looks to the left of her instead of at her face. It's been a long day, with a lot of peopling, and he's too tired for eye contact right now.

"So I saw your report card for this semester."

He grips his fork a little tighter, his knuckles going slightly white. The last few months haven't been great for him, and it's been reflected in his school work. He's a smart kid, and usually gets A's, but with all that's been happening at home, a few classes have slipped to B's and even C's. The D in math is one he's trying hard to forget.

"It's not okay, Rick."  
"Do we have to do this tonight? With  _ him? _ " He doesn't mean for quite so much venom to seep into his tone. "I've had a lot going on."  
" _ He  _ has a name, and I want him to be here for this. You said theatre wouldn't get in the way of your grades!"  
He scoffs. "Theatre? You think it's because of the show?"  
"Before you joined it you were doing fine, now you're failing. What's not clicking?"  
"Maybe it's because my fucking  _ mom _ left? And my dad keeps forgetting to be a dad because he's upset over the divorce? And I've gone from having two parents to having none in the space of a few weeks?"  
"Hey, kiddo, don't blame your mom."  
"Don't  _ kiddo  _ me!"

He was trying not to get angry, but he's shouting now. He can feel a blanket of rage suffocating him, red mist clouding his vision.

"Richard Alexander Bowen, you lower your voice  _ immediately." _

His mom is stern, staring straight into his soul, and Ricky collapses in on himself. He doesn't have the energy for this fight, or to explain to her that High School Musical is what's kept him going through all the breakdowns he's had lately.

As he sinks lower in his seat, Lynn sits up straighter. She composes herself, and Todd coughs uncomfortably. She looks around to make sure the stares of the other diners have dissipated before continuing. 

"Your grades are slipping, your dad says you've been having panic attacks?" Ricky shifts nervously in his seat, wishing neither of his parents knew about that. "I don't think it's good for you to be here."  
"What?"  
"There's a school." Todd chimes in. "Near our house. They're great, and there are places available to start from January."

That sentence riles him up for a whole host of reasons. First off, why is Todd speaking? This has  _ nothing  _ to do with him. Secondly, 'our house' - their house. A shared house. The house of Todd and Lynn. Ricky  _ hates  _ that, because his mom's house should be at home with him. She shouldn't be off living it up in Chicago with a man she barely knows. And third of all, the worst of it: they want him to fucking  _ move?  _ To Illinois? They want him to leave his dad and his school and his  _ friends  _ to go to some fucking school in Chicago halfway through his junior year? He doesn't see how the fuck that's supposed to help with any anxiety he's been having.

"It's a good school, Ricky." His mom tries again. "They have a great music department, and additional support for kids like you, and their results are great. I seriously think it's the best place for you right now."  
He scoffs. " _ Home  _ is the best place for me."  
"It doesn't seem that way!"  
"What does Dad say about this?"  
"You said yourself he's been forgetting to parent lately. He needs to work on his mental health before he can deal with yours."  
"He's a good dad!"  
"Usually, but I think you need something different right now. The school have already agreed to take you, so we're driving you over to Chicago on the 24th."

Ricky's face falls even more. "I don't even get to spend Christmas with him?"

Lynn just looks at him sympathetically. She reaches over to take his hand, but he swipes it away.

"Can we just go home now?"

Todd sighs and calls for the bill. Ricky leaves before it arrives, wanting a moment or two alone in the crisp December air. His blood is boiling, his eyes burning, and he feels like he's about to dissolve. It's sheer pettiness and the determination not to cry in front of Todd that's keeping him going.

They drive home in eerie silence. Ricky's grip on the stress ball in his pocket is so tense it almost hurts, but he doesn't let go. His other hand is clenched in a tight fist, nails digging deep grooves into his palm.

His mom wishes him luck on the next couple shows, and Todd lets him know they'll be round to box up his stuff on Sunday. He doesn't respond, and makes a concerted effort to slam the door of the minivan as hard as he physically can.

The second he's through the door his dad rushes to meet him, confused at how early he's home. It takes less than two seconds for him to run into his father's arms. The floodgates open, and before long he's soaking through the cotton of Mike's shirt with his tears. Mike pulls him close, running his hands through Ricky's curls and crying with him.

"I'm sorry, kiddo. I tried to stop it. I really did try to stop it."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw // panic attacks

The next few shows go well enough, despite everything. The cast and crew don't miss how down Ricky seems, but none of them calls him out on it. It's sort of Ricky's way to ride the ups and downs of emotions without involving anybody else, and drawing attention to the bad days only makes them worse.

By the end of the curtain call on Friday, Ricky is ready to never hear another HSM song as long as he lives.

Everyone is on the post-production high except for him, and thinking how much of a downer he must be makes him want to tear his hair out. When everyone is out of costume, Carlos calls over to plan the carpooling arrangements for the after-show Denny's trip, but Ricky can barely think straight. Working on the assumption he'll be one of the three people that can fit into Big Red's car, he steps out into the hall to breathe, sliding down the lockers and onto the floor.

Miss Jenn joins him.

"Hey, Ricky."

He doesn't look up, and simply shrugs when she asks if she can sit. She does anyway, taking care to leave a few inches of space between them.

"So, I was just going to put the show transcripts in your file and found something… interesting." When he doesn't reply, she presses on. "Seems you've got some transfer papers. You're leaving East High?"  
"Not by choice." He mumbles, face buried in his knees. "This is my last day."  
"Is there anything I can do to help?"  
"Not unless you can turn back time. My mom's pretty set." He laughs bitterly. "And I leave on Tuesday, so…"  
"Is it in Chicago?"  
"Yup."

He can't bear to look at her, already feeling his eyes welling up. He's cried in front of her before, but he'd hate for this to be the lasting impression. This woman that's been so good to him, a woman he's fought for and learnt from and been inspired by, is sitting here watching his whole fucking universe fall apart.

He's hugging his knees, feeling the rapid rise and fall of his chest against the tops of his thighs. His lungs feel so tight it's like his ribcage is shrinking and he can practically hear the bones rattling in his shaking hands. He can't figure out whether he'd rather punch the walls or sob into his teacher's shoulder until no more tears can come.

He feels a hand on his back.

Usually he'd hate this, but right now Miss Jenn is the only thing grounding him. In the absence of a hug from Nini or Red, this kind of physical contact will have to do.

"Shhh, honey, breathe through it." Her voice is gentle, calming. "It's going to be okay. I'm right here."  
"I– I don't wanna—" He can't force the words out, which only makes him shake more, frustration atop the existing anxiety.

It takes a few more minutes for him to calm down, until the sounds of chaos inside the changing rooms can make it through the rushing of blood in his ears. His vision starts to clear and he becomes hyper-aware of Miss Jenn's palm rubbing circles between his shoulders. He flinches, and she lets go.

"Better?"  
"Mm-hmm. 'M sorry."  
"Don't apologise. I should've thought before bringing it up. I didn't realise what a touchy subject it was."  
"Sorry for freaking out."  
"It's okay, Ricky, honestly. I'm a teacher, you think I haven't seen worse? I've had students bite me during a meltdown."

Ricky manages a wet laugh, wiping the tears from his cheeks. Jenn hands him a tissue, and he blows his nose.

"I don't want to go. I'm sorry I didn't say anything sooner."  
"It's not my business."  
"I didn't want to ruin the show."  
"You couldn't."  
"I'm sorry."  
"You don't have to be."

He sits up straighter against the lockers, closing his eyes as and leaning his head back to breathe deeper.

Big Red sticks his head around the door, noting Ricky's red-rimmed eyes and shaken demeanour.

"Are you coming?"  
"I feel kinda sick, actually. Raincheck?"  
"... You sure?"  
"Totally."

Red looks like he isn't sure whether to accept this answer, but a surreptitious nod from Miss Jenn swings his decision.

"Okay, cool. I'll see you over break?"

Ricky nods, and Red shoots him one last concerned glance before returning to the others.

He sits with Miss Jenn in silence for a few more minutes, until his legs stop shaking long enough that he feels he can stand.

"Do you have a way of getting home, Ricky?"  
"I have my board."  
"It's dark, it's icy, and you're upset. I'll call your dad."  
"It's cool, Miss Jenn. I could skate the route with my eyes shut. And hey, if I slip on the ice and die, at least I'll never have to move to Chicago." She goes to respond, concern etched into her features. "I'm kidding. I'll be fine."  
"Are you sure?"  
"Positive. Thanks, Miss Jenn."

He can feel her gaze on him as he walks away, but doesn't turn back. If he looks round now, it'll break him again. He doesn't want this to be the last show, the last time he'll see the crew, the last time he'll see Miss Jenn. He wants to walk away and hop on his board and know he'll be seeing everyone after the break, after a lazy Christmas with his dad. He hates endings, always has done, and this one is the worst.

The cold air stings his eyes on the journey home, but nothing hurts as much as the knowledge that this is the last time he'll ever skate these streets.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> afaik there are no warnings for this chapter, but please let me know if you feel i should add anything

Throughout the break, his friends are texting him asking when they can meet up. He doesn't respond to any of them, too busy lying in his bed wondering if his room in Chicago will feel anywhere near as comfortable. 

Telling people that he's moving seems like much too big a responsibility, and (though riddled with guilt about the whole affair) he's decided to wait for them to notice when he doesn't return in January. He figures Miss Jenn will fill everyone in when he doesn't show up to be part of the spring musical.

The day they box up all his things is a tough one, what with the constant contradictory reminders that he 1) can't bring everything, but 2) should bring anything he's likely to need in the two years at least that he'll be in Chicago. Having to split all he owns into Need and Want, having to face the idea that everything is permanent except for what he wants to be, it's all more than he knows how to handle.

His mom and Todd don't seem to realise that this situation, while perfectly normal to two adults, is completely alien to a 16-year-old kid who's lived in the same house since the day he was born. 

They keep chiding him to hurry up, to make these decisions, to just get it over with so they can pack up the van and get on the road. Lynn is forever rolling her eyes, Todd checking his watch. Ricky just wants the ground to swallow him up, or for time to stop so he can skate over to the Redonoviches' and watch movies and eat junk food and forget with Big Red. He knows the problem won't go away if he ignores it, but he wishes more than anything that it could all get done without his involvement.

It doesn't, of course. 

The van gets packed up and leaves Ricky's bedroom a shell. He shares his tearful goodbyes with his dad before climbing into the back seat and curling up with his hoodie as a pillow against the window. He's determined to sleep the trip away, as if he'll wake up back in his own bed with his parents laughing downstairs, this whole ordeal just a distant nightmare that will fade with each minute he's awake.

The journey takes forever by car. Even with his mom and Todd taking turns to drive they have to stop at a motel for the night and leave at stupid o'clock in the morning to make it back to Chicago before the stores close on Christmas Eve. Ricky floats in and out of consciousness throughout, every waking memory hazy with exhaustion. He's the kind of tired where no amount of sleep will fix it - life tired, Big Red always called it. Tired in a way that can only come from everything being a bit too much, and can only be solved by the world slowing down for a while. The sort of tired that comes from five days of school during exam season, that calms down after the two day weekend where you kick back in a basement with your best friend and do nothing for 48 hours.

Ricky isn't going to get any more of those lazy weekends.

A troubling thought, but it goes away again as sleep takes him. He's woken by potholes and pit stops, but never enough to take in the world around him.

Before too long, they're at the new house.

It's big, bigger than home. It doesn't feel like the kind of place that could be called a home - so large and seemingly unlived in, it feels more like an IKEA showroom come to life than a place where two real people live. Despite its grand size, however, Ricky's room is tiny, an afterthought of a space for an afterthought if a son.

He tries to make the space his own, laying out all his things and trying to mirror his actual bedroom. It's not really possible though, what with the renter's agreement banning them from hanging posters, and the shelves being so narrow he can fit less than half of his books on them. He's going to have to stack them, which he _hates_ , and it makes the whole setup look temporary. Even when he's finished bringing out all of his things it looks like a spare room, and he doubts it will ever feel his own.

Two more years.

He's almost tempted to start a countdown now, ready for the day he can move back home for his dad and see his friends again.

It sucks though, really, because by the time he finally gets home several of his friends will be off at college, or at least moved out of their parents' places. Ricky feels like his life is being put on hold while the rest of it moves on without him.

His phone buzzes, a text from Big Red.

_my aunt SUUUUUUCKS bro,,, i'm so glad i only see  
_ _her at hanukkah bc more than once a year would  
_ _probably kill me 💀_

_yikes_

_yup_

_u coming 2 mine on the 26th? got some new  
_ _games & a new deck i need help assembling_

_plus so much food. SO MUCH FOOD. so much  
_ _food it might kill us_

_i cant :^(_

_in chicago_

_i'll lyk when i'm back_

_not a vibe bro :(((((((((_

_see u soon, enjoy ur time with your mom <3 _

  
  


It's enough to break him, almost, but he's cried too much lately. He wants to feel human for a little while, even if that seems impossible. The street they're on is much too urban to safely skate, and Google says the nearest ramps are a couple of miles away at least, too far to walk in this weather. He takes his guitar out and quietly starts to pick out a riff he's been working on lately.

Songwriting isn't something he feels particularly confident in - really, it's Nini's area of expertise. He's written a couple of things, love songs mainly, and they don't really meet his impossibly high standards. He holds his aspirations too heavy to ever satisfy, partly as motivation but mostly to justify beating himself up over it. He decides that he wants this song to be different - not about a girl, but about himself. It's difficult, because while he feels a lot of emotions, he really doesn't know how to verbalise them. He's not sure how real musicians manage to translate a feeling into a song so eloquently.

Even so, he presses on. He scribbles chords and vague lyrics into his notebook, losing himself fairly quickly to the music.

Though he plays loudly enough, he's careful to sing under his breath. This song isn't something he wants to share with anyone, _especially_ not his mom and Todd. It feels private, too real to give away to just anyone. Maybe one day he'll play it for Nini or Red, maybe even his dad, but for now it's his and his alone.

After an hour or two, he's close to finished. It's rough around the edges, and a few of the rhymes are tenuous at best, but the music itself is solid and the words manage to near-enough encapsulate his current headspace. He realises, with a twinge in his chest, that it's the saddest thing he's ever written.

Just as he's going to put his guitar away, his mom enters the room without knocking.

"What's this?"

Before Ricky can stop her, she's rifling through the pages. Her brow furrows as she picks up on some of the lyrics, and he grabs it out of her hands before she can get to the page that is most obviously about the move.

"Writing something for a character." He mumbled, bundling the notebook into his bedside cabinet. "Can you ask before you read my stuff, please?"  
"Sorry." She holds her hand up in surrender, but Ricky doesn't feel her apology is entirely genuine. "You're getting good at that. Writing, I mean."  
"...Thanks?"  
"You could join the creative writing club at school next month. It gets you some extra credit for English, and it's less disruptive than theatre."  
"The shows aren't disruptive, Mom."  
"Agree to disagree. I'm just saying, I think you should branch out at Redlands."

Ricky wraps his arms around himself, the pitiful attempt at a hug doing little to ground him in this moment. His skin is crawling, whether through discomfort from her praise or concern for starting a new school, he's unsure. All he knows is that he wants this conversation to end.

He doesn't know when things got so strained.

His relationship with his mother has always been pretty solid, and until he was around 13 he was closer to her than he was to his dad. He's never felt like hiding from her before, never wished she'd leave him alone. Especially these last few weeks, he's missed seeing her face every day, but now that she's with him he'd give anything to be a thousand miles away.

"Dinner's ready." She offers weekly, sensing how much he wants to be alone. "You can eat up here, just this once. You seem tired."

He'll give her this: nine times out of ten, she can sense when he's on the verge of burnout. Though she may sometimes be the one that pushes him to that edge, at least she knows when to step back.

He traipses down the stairs behind her, trailing along like he's totally lost. He is a little bit. He feels like his mother is a tour guide of some foreign place that could never be his home. He's scared to touch anything for fear of tarnishing her shiny new life.

"Grub's up!" Todd chimes, with his excessively chipper voice that reminds Ricky, oddly, of Chuck E. Cheese. "Sorry it's nothing fancy but, hey, Christmas Eve. I'll give you something decent tomorrow."

He throws his head back when he laughs, a reaction that feels far too big for what's actually happening. Sure, Ricky himself has a tendency to overreact to stuff sometimes, but it also makes him pretty conscious of when others do the same. What is Todd compensating for? What about this situation tells him he needs to chuckle and guffaw and overwhelm the entire world with his unnecessarily cartoonish laugh? Yet again, Ricky finds himself with clenched fists.

"What is it?" His nose crumples involuntarily - he isn't _trying_ to be rude, but he tends to give his emotions away far too easily. Maybe Lynn has warned Todd of this fact, because he thankfully doesn't acknowledge it.   
"Veggie supreme pizza with a cauliflower crust. There's also salad on the counter and dressing in the fridge."

At a warning glance from his mother, Ricky smiles and mumbles a thank you. He doesn't like veggie pizza - though, individually, most of the elements are fine, the textures are a horrific mix. So many of the toppings go hideously soft in the oven, and contradict each other far too much. The cheese always feels stringy under the weight of so many other flavours, and the overall texture is just _wrong._ As for the cauliflower crust, the less said the better - he's never tried it, but he doesn't expect to like it.

When he gets to his room he tries to take a bite of the pizza, but involuntarily gags. It makes him angry at himself, honestly, because logic tells him that there's nothing _wrong_ with it. He wants to enjoy it, and God has hungry after the day's long drive and effort unpacking, but he can't even bring himself to swallow the first bite. Dejected, he shoves the plate to the side and picks his guitar back up.

He fiddles around with it for a while, playing Nini's love song, and a couple of HSM acoustics. He even figures out the chords to a song from Big Red's favourite indie folk-pop Canadian artist. He manages to play for maybe 25 minutes before Lynn pokes her head into the room.

"Can you quit that now, honey? Todd has a migraine."

He rolls his eyes, putting the guitar away. He catches his mom eyeing his plate and sighing. She walks in and picks it up, taking it with her wordlessly. Ricky's stomach twists guiltily, just for a second, over how wasteful he's been.

But then he looks back at his guitar, fingers itching to play, and remembers he can't. He already lost everything, and now Todd's taken his music too. He stops feeling bad for giving him a hard time and just curls up in bed. He's fully clothed, binder still on, and it's only 10:30, but that tiredness from before is creeping in still. He doesn't want to sleep so much as he doesn't want to be awake, and he'd be happy to sleep away the next two years as well.

As he fades out of consciousness, he sinks into the too-soft mattress, feet hanging off the too-short bed, and feels swallowed by the too-small room.

His night's sleep is fitful at best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also i have twitter @easilyrepiaced and tumblr @autisticrickybowen


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw // sensory overload & panic attacks
> 
> i call this chapter "jay had a sensory overload induced panic attack while shopping with his mam and decided to cope by projecting onto ricky bowen again"
> 
> this is the longest chapter yet and it's honestly incredibly messy and i'm?? not at all sure if i've done a decent job of describing how it feels to overload bc like. hoo boy,,, shit ain't fun
> 
> it's 3am and this is unedited, so please excuse any mistakes

The week between Christmas and New Year's is, as always, a bit of a blur. The first day Ricky actually recognises is the 30th, because it's the day his mom decides to drag him school shopping.

Redlands Academy is a public school with private school airs, with a uniform and a house system. Lynn tries to explain it all on the drive to the store, but Ricky's mind wanders to Harry Potter as soon as she mentions houses, and his understanding is completely shot.

The store isn't busy, but they're playing irritating elevator music over the speakers, and the heaters are on full blast. His skin prickles with heat and the noise drills into his head, and he's begging to go home before they've even been there five minutes.

"I don't have time for this, Ricky. The sooner you get your uniform fitted, the sooner we can leave."

An unnervingly chirpy young woman comes to help them, the pitch of her voice somehow more grating than the music.

"Have you been fitted before?"  
"No." He's sullen and monosyllabic, and Lynn swats his shoulder frustratedly. He sighs and continues. "I've not had to be."  
"This is his first time at a school with a uniform."  
"Well, isn't that exciting?!"  
"Barely."  
"Ricky."  
"Just the facts."  
" _Ricky."_

He follows her through to the fitting rooms, leaving Lynn to flick through a rack of crisp white shirts. Everything here seems really posh, like nothing Ricky is used to. His mom has always been so laid back, but now she's dragged him into this uptight world of stiff smiles and fancy uniforms and he feels so utterly out of place.

He's uncomfortable the second she starts measuring him, the gentle whispers of her fingers and the tape measure against his skin feel like fire, the sensation enough to make him nauseous. He knows, logically, that it doesn't _hurt_ , and that he's actually just overwhelmed, but at this point, he'd rather be getting punched. At least he'd have good reason to hate that.

He doesn't miss the curious way the woman eyes the strap of his binder when his sleeve slips, but elects to ignore it. She doesn't say anything, and it leaves Ricky with a pit of unease in his stomach.

"Awesome! We're all done. I'll get on finding a blazer in your size. Do you know what house you're in?"  
"No."  
"Might your mom?"  
He shrugs. "Probably."

She seems somewhat perturbed by his uncommunicative glowering, and he feels awful for being so surly. She's just doing her job, and it isn't her fault that this entire experience is sensory hell. He manages a weak smile by way of an apology, and she beams back.

They traipse back through to the main store, the assistant armed with a clipboard and her tape measure.

"Hi, ma'am. It shouldn't be a problem finding his jacket, he's a pretty common size. Do you know which house he's in, though?"  
Lynn sighs, exasperated. "He's in Franklin. I did tell him."  
"Not to worry! I'll be back soon."

As soon as she's out of earshot, Lynn turns to him. He's staring at his shoes, really not in the mood for a confrontation.

"Please tell me you behaved."  
"Yeah."  
"You weren't rude?"  
"No."  
"You didn't fight her?"  
"No."  
"You answered all her questions?"  
"Yeah."  
"Politely?"  
 _"Yes."  
_ "Don't get snippy, Ricky. You've been in a foul mood the last few days."  
"Wonder why."

He's still not looking at her, instead diverting his attention to a shelf of school sweaters that look uncomfortable as hell. He reaches out to touch one- to see if it's as itchy as it looks - and immediately regrets it when the texture of the fabric makes his entire hand feel like it's being pricked. He really hopes it's not a part of the Redlands uniform because no way in _hell_ are they getting him to wear something that feels like how he pictures a vat of scorpions. Is he being dramatic? Sure, but he's past caring. This entire trip has been sensory hell, and it's not even halfway over.

"Which pants do you want?"

It seems Lynn has also given up on the fight, realising she's not getting through. In her hands are two pairs of dark grey pants, each loose and rough looking. There's no discernible difference, at least not that Ricky can tell. 

"Are there any tighter ones?"  
"You can't wear skinny jeans to school, Ricky."  
"Not skinny jeans, just… not as swooshy as those."

She sighs but, muttering _'pick your battles'_ to herself, returns to the rack to grab a more restrictive pair of pants. She offers up one that looks like it'll be fitted, but not tight, and Ricky agrees.

There are a few new customers in the store, and the sound of two tweenage girls bickering over whether a sweater is royal blue or navy is enough to make Ricky twitch. It's not that it's loud in hear so much as that the layers of noise are building and the complexity is overwhelming. Generally, Ricky has trained himself to cope with sensory overload, but when he's tired or stressed it becomes that much more unbearable. 

He tries looking up at his mom and nodding his head toward the door, their longtime code for _'can we get out? I'm about to have a meltdown.'_ , but she's distracted by the sales assistant returning with a blazer. Ricky's eyes burn, and he feels like he's about to scream. It really fucking sucks that they've reached a point where she can't even switch off the powerful mom energy long enough to play caring mom. She used to be so on the ball with Ricky's autism, knowing exactly what he needed even when he couldn't speak. He needs to get out, needs to breathe, needs to think, needs to recover, but all Lynn can see is how he 'needs' a uniform.

"Here we are! This should fit perfectly." The chirpy woman is back, and Ricky rubs his temples with the pain of her high pitched voice. His ears are ringing and his eyes are hot, and he can't seem to escape the oppressive weight of this store's whole atmosphere.  
"Amazing, thanks. Are the fitting rooms through here?"  
"Yep! Toward the back and to your left. Can I help with anything else?"  
"Mom, we don't have to try it all on. Can we just buy it and go?"  
"You've grown at least 5 inches since I last bought you clothes, we're trying them on." She turns to the assistant with a smile. "We're all good here, for now, thank you."  
"Not a problem! Call me over if you need a hand."

After she walks away, Lynn grabs Ricky's wrist gently and pulls him along to the changing room. He pulls away, her touch so soft it's making his skin crawl.

She hands him almost a full uniform and shoves him into the booth, closing the curtain behind him. It's unbearably warm and a little bit claustrophobic, and he takes a moment to lean his forehead against the cool glass of the mirror and breathe, squeezing his eyes shut in hopes to reset his senses. When it doesn't work, he sighs and slips off his jeans.

The school pants are comfortable enough, and he's grateful his mom caved on the argument about getting the narrower cut. They fit well and he doesn't feel too unlike himself in them.

His sense of self dissipates as soon as his loose t-shirt comes off and he changes into the stiff, papery white shirt. A quick look in the mirror tells him he looks ridiculous, fancier than he's dressed since bar mitzvah season several years ago. The feeling of it against his skin is hellish, so crisp and immovable. Moving feels wrong, the fabric so stiff it seems like it'll tear if he does anything. He refrains from doing up the top two buttons, the rough collar already restrictive enough. 

He leaves the tie on the side and slips into the blazer. It's a deep burgundy, the same colour as one of his favourite hoodies, and the embroidered crest is a nice shade of royal blue. The words are stitched in gold thread, _Redlands Academy_ weaved into the crest and _Franklin_ beneath it. It's a lot more comfortable than the shirt, and he wishes he could just wear it with a t-shirt.

"How's it goin' in there?"

He sweeps back the curtain and steps out, and Lynn immediately starts gushing.

"You look great!"  
"I hate the shirt."

She reaches over, smoothing the lapel of the blazer and going for the top buttons.

"Mom." She ignores him, continuing to fiddle with the buttons. "Mom, it's choking me."  
"No, it's not."  
"Mom."  
"Richard."

His eyes well up again, his chest so tight he can scarcely breathe, and he feels as if he's moments away from a panic attack. She's still trying to do the topmost button, coming at it from an angle that doesn't work well with how small and fiddly the button is. Her fingers feel like spiders against his neck, unsettling and overwhelming.

"Mom, it's strangling me."  
"Don't be ridiculous."  
He's starting to hyperventilate now. "Mom, I can't breathe."  
"I'm nearly finished."  
"It's choking me."  
"Hold still."  
"It's _choking_ me."

The jewel of her ring strokes against his neck as she finally gets the button, and it's enough to send him over the edge. Thoughtlessly, he shoves her backwards, and she stumbles into a rack.

"It's _choking me!"_

He doesn't mean to shout, but within seconds he can sense all eyes in the store on him. The sales assistant from before looks horrified, and Ricky's stomach drops.

"Sorry."  
"I'm sorry, Rick."  
"I'm sorry."  
"Don't apologise."  
"I'm sorry."

He's struggling to breathe, anxiety taking grip of his heart and the _stupid_ fucking shirt strangling him. He's blinded by the prickly heat behind his eyes and he's pretty sure his knees are about to give out.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, it's too tight, I'm— I'm sorry. I—"  
"It's okay, Rick, it's okay. C'mon, get changed, we'll go home."

He sinks to the ground at that point, tears leaking from his eyes as he gasps for breath because _home, home, home, he wants to go home but home is so far away and he's not going home for two more fucking years and he wants to go home home home home home home home ho—_

Through the haze, he can hear his mom directing shoppers away and apologising profusely to staff. Time passes - could be seconds, could be hours, but most likely it was only a few minutes - and then he feels hands on his shoulders. 

"I've paid, honey, come on. I got your stuff, we can go home."

She guides him through the store, but he still doesn't feel real, the fucking shirt too tight around his throat and no shoes on his feet. His vision comes back as he collapses into the car.

He stares straight ahead, unable to focus on his mother's apology until he can get back into his hoodie and out of the demon shirt. He's looking blankly out of the window as he undoes the buttons with unexpected dexterity under the circumstances. He doesn't care about the fact they're parked in the street with a reasonable amount of foot traffic. All he can think is how much he wants to change. Surprisingly, Lynn doesn't tut as he chucks the offending item haphazardly into the backseat with no care for creasing it.

When he's comfortably back in his own clothes (luckily, the pants are inoffensive enough that he's able to stick out the fifteen-minute drive with them still on) he curls in on himself in the seat, strapping his seatbelt on and gazing out of the window, willing his mom to just _drive_ instead of attempting to talk about what just happened.

"I'm sorry, baby."

No such luck.

"It's cool."  
"It isn't."

She reaches out to put a hand on his knee but rethinks it when he shudders.

"I'm sorry. I didn't realise you were struggling."

There's some bitter wider truth hidden in that sentence, but he's not in the mood for a fight. He's not really in the mood for anything.

"Do you wanna just go home?"  
"Just drive."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ps stream 'ramblings of a lunatic' by bears in trees,,, it was the anthem to a lot of the writing of this chapter & also it's great


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wanted to give ricky a break today, so here is lots n lots of words of him just vibing with no real conflict

After the incident at the store, Ricky's mom leaves him be for a few days. She allows him to cook his own food, play his guitar at all hours of the day, and keeps Todd away from him as much as possible.

Ricky can feel the guilt radiating off her and, while a part of him wishes he could reassure her, he knows it's absolutely deserved. He's cycled through the emotions the last couple days - anger, sadness, confusion, frustration. She never used to be this way, so disengaged and blind to his struggles. He really doesn't know what changed her, whether it be time or distance or Todd. For all her sarky comments about Mike's parenting, you'd think she'd be a model figure of a mother. Instead, Ricky feels further away from her than ever before.

On Saturday, following five days of tiptoeing around Ricky's temperament, Lynn comes into his room.

She doesn't knock, but she rarely did even when they lived together. She at least has the decency to wait for him to give her permission to sit beside him.

"We have a meeting tomorrow. At the school."

Ricky sits up a little straighter, perplexed. When he looks her in the eye she's cautious, like a gazelle facing off with a lion.

"We're speaking with the ed psych." She starts again. "And your house leader is showing you around, getting you used to everything. I wanna give you the best start here, Ricky."  
"Okay." He's unprepared to argue, and this might even be a good idea. "What time?"  
"Nine. We should be finished up by lunchtime, and if it goes well I'll treat you to pizza after."  
"Could I go to the skate park?"  
She looks hesitant. "Sure. Hell, if you don't act up I'll take you to the skate shop in the city and let you pick out some new stuff."

He grins, pulling her into a tight hug. She seems taken aback somewhat, not having been held by her son in months. She sinks into it.

Ricky, though still feeling completely out of his depth in Chicago, tries to look at things positively. If he gets to look round tomorrow, he won't completely drown in the halls come Monday, and getting a new board means he can skate for the first time since getting here more than a fortnight ago. He can, however slowly, slip back into being himself.

"What are their names?" He asks, pulling out of the embrace.  
"The ed psych is called Eva, and your head of house is Marcus."  
"Have you met them before?"  
"I've spoken to Marcus, and I met Eva back in November when we first started talking about moving you out here."

He doesn't bother tending at the reveal of how long she's been planning this, because he's trying to have a good day. He wants a good day, a good week, a good month. He's never likely to feel totally okay here, but he at least wants to put his best foot forward.

Two years. Just two more years.

"Are they nice?"  
"I think you'll like Eva, she's cool. And Marcus seems great. They're both trained in dealing with kids like you, so that should all be fine."

He kind of wishes she wouldn't phrase it like that: _"dealing with"._ It makes him sound like some kind of burden (which, of course, he probably is. It still stings to hear it from his own mom.).

"Are you feeling okay about this?"  
"Huh?"  
"The school, the meeting. Is it too much?"

_Yes,_ he wants to scream, _yes it fucking is. I should be out skating with Red right now, or having dinner at Nini's, or texting Carlos to give me hints for the next show. Dad should be running around like a headless chicken trying to find all my books, and trying to figure out if my schedule changes in January. I should be spending tomorrow playing video games and pretending school doesn't exist, not waking up at stupid o'clock in the morning to meet with teachers trained to deal with me. Of course this is too fucking much._

"It's whatever."

She smiles at him encouragingly, patting his knee as she stands.

"I'm proud of you already."  
"Awesome."

She gives him a thumbs-up as she leaves the room, and he smiles back.

He is willing to give it a go tomorrow. He doesn't want this to go badly, no matter how likely it is that it will. 

The rest of the evening passes by uneventfully enough, the only real disruption being dinner. He pushes his food around the plate, some unappealing casserole that goes down like cement. He only manages a few mouthfuls, but neither his mom nor Todd feels the need to comment. He wonders if they'll ever pay attention to how little he eats here, how much of Todd's cooking doesn't appeal to his incredibly narrow tastes. It seems unlikely.

Todd tries making idle conversation, and Ricky decides to join in for once. He does his best - cheerful tone of voice, enthusiastic responses - but the lack of eye contact seems to deter Todd, and makes the atmosphere unsettling.

He goes up to bed early, settling into his pyjamas by 10 pm. He sets a bootleg of _Dear Evan Hansen_ playing on his laptop and scrolls aimlessly through Twitter for a while. A text comes through from his dad.

_Hey kiddo, sending big love for  
_ _Monday. Take Chicago by storm.  
_ _Proud of you, missing you big  
_ _time. Keep safe <3_

His chest tightens a little, but he takes a couple of deep breaths and blinks away the tears threatening to form.

_love u to pieces, i'll lyk how  
_ _it goes. mom has me meeting  
_ _the ed psych tmrw_

_i'm coping rn_

_missing u_

_Glad to hear it's going alright, I  
_ _hope the ed psych is decent._

_Keep me posted afterwards?_

_will do ! mom's taking me  
_ _skating after but i'll ft u in the  
_ _evening?_

_Of course, kid. Love you. Have  
_ _a good time skating- saw Red  
_ _up and down the street yesterday.  
_ _Think he's missing you._

That's the final straw for Ricky, knowing that Big Red has come by even when Ricky hasn't answered his texts in days. Much as he wants to stay up speaking to his dad, he's aware that tomorrow's early start combined with the sudden onslaught of emotions means it's probably time for him to sleep.

_got 2 sleep, ily. have  
_ _a good night. i miss u._

_hope u can visit soon, gnight_

He wraps his blanket tightly around him, the pressure the closest thing he can get to a hug when he's this far from the people he trusts most. Time slips away from him, and before long he's asleep.

Waking up the next morning feels all too quick, as if he blinked and it was suddenly Sunday. His mom is stood over him, shaking his shoulders.

"Come on, sweetie. Fifteen minutes."

He has to squeeze his eyes tight to blink the sleep out of him, the tiredness shrouding him making the whole world sound like it was underwater. He sees clothes laid out for him on the desk, torn grey jeans and a pastel pink hoodie he hasn't worn in months. He stumbles across the room to get dressed, still half asleep.

His binder is still on the floor where he dropped it last night, and he tugs it on with a little difficulty. It wakes him up a little bit in the familiar moments of bewilderment as it was stuck over his face. This is a crucial part of his morning routine - getting stuck in a binder is a pretty decent way of switching your brain on.

He peeks at his watch as he slips the hoodie on, and realises it's only 7:53. He realises with only mild resentment that Lynn's fifteen minute warning was mom-code for "somewhere between half an hour and 45 minutes". But hey, he's ready.

Still shivering despite the hoodie, he shrugs on his denim jacket over top.

The jacket doesn't get worn as often as he'd like - his fur-lined one is a staple of many of his outfits, but this one, plain dark blue denim, tends to stay at the back of his closet. He likes it, though, because it's covered in pins and patches that he's collected over the years. His favourite was a gift from Big Red six years ago, the day Ricky came out. It's a badge that came attached to a card that reads "it's a boy!". It was a dumb joke, of course, but it was so validating for Ricky, who was ten and terrified of losing his favourite people. Since then it's acted as a good luck charm, a reminder to him that even the most polarising change can't take away his best friends. And honestly, he needs that today.

He picks up a fidget toy from his desk and his board from the closet before meandering downstairs.

Lynn seems stunned that he's actually up and ready. He doesn't feel like telling her that he's running off nervous energy.

"Where are my shoes?"  
"Shoe rack."  
"That's only one pair."  
"What?"

He wasn't in charge of bringing boxes into the house when they arrived, and in the fortnight they've been here he's barely left the house, rendering his shoe collection irrelevant. His grey Vans were fine until now, but today he has a bright colour on and he wants his shoes to match.

"Are they not enough?"  
"I wanna wear my pink ones."  
Lynn sighs. "Ricky."  
"I always match my shoes." He shrugs back. "I gotta make an impression."

He doesn't want to consider the fact that he'll likely have to wear dress shoes with his uniform come tomorrow. Today, at least, he wants comfort clothes.

"I think they're in a crate in the basement. You can have a look, but if you're not ready in five minutes you'll need to wear your grey ones."

He almost trips in his haste to get down the stairs. Sure enough, there are a few boxes down here labelled _Ricky,_ stuff that wouldn't fit in his room. He's tempted to bring all his shoes up with him and put them on the rack, as some kind of proof he lives here. Beyond his bedroom, nothing in the house suggests a teenager belongs inside it.

He rifles through the box. All his shoes are functionally the same, just high top Vans. He has one or two other styles, but generally he likes these ones. They're familiar, and homely, and he likes that they're a constant. No matter what he wears, he has a pair of high tops to match. Black, red, blue, green, orange, yellow, _pink._ He's not surprised they ended up so far down the bottom of the box, considering how rarely he wears anything they'd match with.

"Richard!"  
"Coming!"

Back up in the hallway, Lynn is tapping her foot and ostentatiously looking at her watch. He ignores her as he tugs his shoes on.

A quick glance in the full-length mirror as Lynn hurries him out the door tells him he looks okay, and he already feels more like Ricky Bowen than he has in a while. There's a smile on his face as he flops into the front seat of his mom's car, and she seems pleasantly surprised to see him in such a chipper mood. The clock on the dash reads 8:11.

She lets him play his own music on the drive, which only lifts his spirits more. She seems confused why he's getting quite so invested in slow piano ballads, but even she starts bopping her shoulders when _Share Your Address_ comes on.

They reach Redlands Academy at five minutes to 9, and Ricky hops out of the car with his board while his mom parks. He doesn't notice the woman standing by the entrance, because he's busy getting excited by how skateable this parking lot is, with smooth cement and speed bumps he can jump.

"Ricky, behave!" His mom calls as she walks up behind him.  
"I'm behaving." He retorts, hopping off the board and picking it up under his arm.

The woman walks towards them, joined by a young man that can't be much older than 25. The woman is short, with tan skin, a curly pixie cut, and bright blue lipstick framing her bright smile. The man is closer to Ricky's height, with dark skin and wild hair scraped back into a bun. They're both in grey suits, with burgundy Redlands staff badges pinned to the lapels.

"Hi! Ricky?"

Her voice is soft and relaxing, deep and quiet. She's different to everyone else he's ever met in her position, who all seem to put on the chirrupy voice in some attempt to seem approachable, but usually end up unnerving Ricky. Fake positivity makes him nervous, and he appreciates this woman for her chill demeanour.

"I'm Eva, I'm the educational psychologist here. " She extends a hand, which he shakes. "I take it you've worked with people like me before?"  
"Plenty." He laughs.  
The man reaches out a hand too. "I'm Marcus, I'll be your head of house."  
"Not had one of them before."

His mom greets both of them, and Marcus leads them inside. Eva hangs back with Ricky while his mom discusses the facilities with Marcus.

"I wanna say before we get started, if you ever don't like how I'm working, or don't get something I'm saying, feel free to stop me. I'm working with you here, never trying to catch you out. I know psychologists can sometimes treat you like a test subject, but that's not the goal."  
"Cool."  
"You can also tell me to leave you alone whenever. Unless you're at risk, I'll usually give you space when you want it."  
"Awesome."

Right now, he doesn't really mind her. She's less overwhelming than most people that have worked with him. Usually they focus too much on trying to train him into eye contact or attempting to get to the bottom of his single word answers.

"And you can tell me to shut up. I talk too much sometimes."  
"You're alright."

She smiles brightly at him, and he returns it. She's actually managing to put him in a good mood - she came in at an advantage, given the positive start to his day, but it still feels nice. It's giving him hope for these next two hellish years, at least. When his mom first mentioned the on-site ed psych he felt like sinking into the floor and not even bothering with the school at all. Educational psychologists have always been his least favourite professionals to deal with, even worse than principals and therapists. Eva at least seems to understand most people in her profession are awful to deal with.

"So, this is your locker." Marcus pipes up, gesturing to locker 102 in a row against a blue wall. "This hallway is for Franklin students, so if you ever can't find your stuff just follow the blue and you'll get back here pretty easy. That's my office over there, and I can help you out."  
"Do I have a combination?"

As if he anticipated the question, Marcus immediately fishes an envelope from his pocket. He hands it over, and Ricky reads the print. _Bowen, Richard: Welcome Pack._

"That has your locker code, schedule, and the code of conduct. It's also got my contact details, as well as Eva's and the principal's. Theoretically, everything you should need to settle it in."  
"Thanks."  
"Not a problem. Now, if you'll follow me I'll show you all the common spaces. You'll have assembly weekly in the hall, which is just up here…"

The whole tour goes off without a hitch. Ricky decides that he really, _really_ likes Eva, and Marcus isn't half bad either. They somehow seem both calm and enthusiastic at the same time, offering a positive outlook on the school without trying too hard that it seems they're overcompensating. They answer all of Ricky's questions, even the dumb ones, and they never once treat him like he's strange. He's so used to adults treating him like a freak for his fidgety nature and inability to make eye contact - one of the reasons he connected so strongly with Miss Jenn is that she was just as weird as him, and always treated him just as she did everybody else. He'd been terrified that he wouldn't find anyone else like her, but Marcus has the same kindness, and Eva the same chaotic energy.

If everyone at Redlands is like them, he's pretty sure he might survive these next few years.

They finish up around 11, the majority of Ricky's anxiety quelled. His mom is practically vibrating with pride at how well he's handled the day, and he feels pretty fucking good about himself. As they hop into the car and start driving towards the skate park, his mom turns to ask him a question. 

"So, what are we thinking."  
"It's cool. I liked it."  
"Think it'll go well?"

He pauses for a second - realistically, he doubts he can thrive away from East High, especially not being the weird new kid halfway through junior year. But the building is decent, and his support system seems good enough. Much as he rolls his eyes when therapists suggest positive thinking, he's willing to give it a go.

"Yeah. Yeah, I think it kinda will."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is all over the place i am. just the tiniest bit drunk
> 
> i love ricky bowen

Turns out, he was wrong.

Three hours into the day, he's already totally over it and incredibly ready to go back to bed. His awful shirt is, again, setting him on edge even before he makes it into school, and he's only on time by the skin of his teeth. His new teachers have to draw attention to him, and other students keep looking at him like he's some kind of zoo animal.

His friends start texting him frantically around 10 am - 8 back home, right as he should be arriving at school - and he gets a detention for forgetting to turn his ringer off, so that when Red texts to ask where he is it disrupts his new history teacher's flow.

The syllabus is different from the one at East High, putting him months behind his peers in every class and leaving him feeling completely lost. Once again, he finds himself questioning how his mom ever thought this was a good idea. He gives up less than ten minutes into math and storms off toward a bathroom.

He wriggles out of the awful button-up and shoves it haphazardly into his bag, replacing it with a hoodie that matches the colour of his blazer. There's an instant relief that comes with changing into something comfortable, the bone-deep itch of the school shirt causing as much anxiety as the school day itself. He takes a moment to breathe, the cubicle surprisingly comforting in its claustrophobia. Scrolling through his messages from today, he realises that leaving his friends to notice his absence and figure out the situation is unfair to them _and_ to him. It stings seeing how honestly passionate they seem to be about his lack of attendance - even E.J. seems genuine in his querying why he hasn't seen Ricky today. He opens the Wildcats group chat with a sigh.

_hey guys, not sure when ill see u_ _all :( mom moved me out 2  
chicago _ _over xmas and i'm at school here_ _until end of senior  
year. miss _ _u all_ _loads n i'm sorry i didnt say anything_ _before  
break, nobody told me until _ _after the show. rlly sorry to be  
missin _ _the spring show, pls keep me updated !!!!!_

_love u all_

He silences his phone as replies start buzzing in, not on the mood for emotions just yet. He shoves his headphones in his ears and hits play on Ben Platt, yet again.

With another deep breath, he steps out of the cubicle and over to the mirrors. He holds the edge of the sink with a white-knuckle grip, staring himself down. He manages eye contact with himself for all of five seconds before groaning in frustration and storming out of the room.

He sings to the ground at the top of the science corridor stairwell, clutching his bag to his chest and hugging it like a lifeline. He shuts his eyes tightly, leg bouncing and breath rising rapidly in his chest.

_Breathe slow, picture waves on a beach. Match your inhales and exhales to the ebb and flow of the tide. Be quiet, be calm. Figure everything out. You can handle today._

"Ricky?"

Marcus' voice is soothing, and immediately drags Ricky back to reality.

"Can I sit?"  
"Sure."

The teacher slides down the wall to meet him, his presence sturdy and grounding.

"Your teacher emailed me. Said you walked out?"  
"Yeah."  
"Any reason? Or is today just a lot?"  
"Both, I guess. Plus my shirt was strangling me."  
"Ah." Marcus nods knowingly. "I noticed your hoodie."  
"Yeah. I told my mom I didn't wanna wear the shirt but I have to. Usually I don't have to wear stuff that feels like the devil knitted it out of cactus needles."  
Marcus chuckles. "Inventive. Do you write, Ricky?"

He knows this one. This is the part where the teacher tries to distract you from your shitty headspace, treats you like a person so you forget how much you don't feel like one.

"A little, sometimes. Songs usually."  
"Cool, cool. What kinda stuff do you like?" He gestures to Ricky's headphones, that are still playing music softly from where he's pulled them from his ears.  
"Varies. I've been listening to musicals more lately. I kinda accidentally signed up to be in _High School Musical_ , and all the theatre kids started introducing me to their favourite shows."  
"Interesting. What's your favourite?"  
" _Dear Evan Hansen._ I… I relate to Evan, I guess."  
"My husband likes that one. Evan has anxiety, right?"  
"Yup. I think he's autistic, too, but they never say it."  
"That's really interesting. I never thought of it that way… So, do you wanna do the musical here?"

He realises with a start that he's making actual conversation. Ten minutes ago the world felt like it was crashing and burning, and now Ricky is being an actual person.

He's not sure how much Marcus knows about him from Lynn. He knows his transcripts will have given the man an idea of the recent drop in Ricky's grades, and how many times he's been forced to work with school counsellors and ed psychs. He'll have an idea of him on paper, but not in practice. He finds himself wondering how much Marcus can gather about him based off this conversation.

"Not allowed. Besides, I'm behind in all my classes so I don't really have time. You guys should really think about having the same curriculum as Utah."  
Marcus chuckles. "That's no fun. What are your plans for catching up?"  
"Not sure." Ricky shrugs. "Right now I can't even wear a shirt, so I think my chances of being a model student are pitiful at best."  
"You cool with t-shirts?"  
"Hmm?"  
"Like plain white tees. Could you wear a t-shirt under your blazer?"  
"I'm not allowed."  
"I can speak with Ms Watkins about loosening the dress code for you. An easy fix for one big problem gives us the chance to focus on the other stuff."  
"Us?"

It's a while since he's heard someone say " _we_ can tackle a problem". It's the kind of language his dad always used, but his mom never thinks to. To her and Todd, all problems are Ricky's problems, or Ricky himself _is_ the problem. It's never something for them to resolve together.

"You think I'd leave you to fix everything? I'm a teacher, dude."

For the next few minutes, after Marcus confirms that t-shirts are an option from now on, they discuss other ways they can get Ricky on track for the semester. It's nice that, despite the day's horrendously rocky start, things could still end up working out. 

He goes and sits in the Franklin office for the rest of math, making a start on the essay he was set in history. He appreciates Marcus for playing the _Dear Evan Hansen_ soundtrack softly in the background while they work, and by the time the bell rings he feels ready to head to his next class.

He makes it through the rest of the day with no problems, skipping lunch to sit in the music classroom and work on the song he started a few days ago. He makes friends - maybe friends is a strong word, but they get along - with a quiet girl called Lily, who is incredible at the piano and reminds him a little of Ashlyn. He survives his classes, and even gets a compliment on his hoodie from his English teacher. 

Even detention isn't too bad.

Despite his mom's initial annoyance, she doesn't mind too much when he begrudgingly agrees to let Todd pick him up at 4:30.

He manages the uncomfortable silence, and does a (brilliant, he thinks) essay on how phones are detrimental to education. He's almost annoyed when he sees the teacher in charge of detention immediately bin it when the hour is up.

He makes polite conversation with Todd in the passenger seat of the minivan on the way back to the house, and even hugs his mom when he gets inside. Back in his bedroom, he decides to finally check the texts he hadn't read this morning. 

There's at least 40 in the group chat and another twenty individual ones. There's four from Big Red, and Ricky's heart clenches. He feels fucking terrible for leaving his best friend, and he's confident he'll never be able to explain how much it hurts. 

As if on cue, Red's contact picture comes up requesting a FaceTime. Ricky wipes his treacherously teary eyes before hitting accept.

He keeps his cool throughout the call, explaining the messy situation and even cracking a few jokes. He and Red talk for well over an hour, and it's invigorating and crushing all at once. The older boy's messy red hair and wonky smile and expressive eyes are like home to him, and having to experience that through a pixelated screen from 1500 miles away makes him feel like the world is falling out of rotation.

When the call ends Ricky lets his phone fall to the bed beside him. He pulls his blazer tightly around him and feels his breath run away from him, yet a-fucking-gain. His lungs tighten and he bursts into tears, unable to hold it back. He's so angry at himself, angry at the universe, because even when he spent today doing _everything_ to make a positive start of things, and had a genuinely good day despite his usual problems, he still manages to fall apart. He can't hold a good thing in his hands for too long without crushing it.

He wants to go home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reminder that i have twitter (@easilyrepiaced) and tumblr (@autisticrickybowen) if you ever want to leave feedback or maybe request something? idk


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw // injury & kinda disordered eating? ((lmk if you think anything else is needed))
> 
> this is. horrendously structured and really badly written but i needed to just. sit & write to distract me so i'm sorry this chapter sucks

By a few weeks into the semester, Ricky's life has more or less fallen into place. He's not comfortable, exactly, nor happy, but he's finally in a position where he feels he can roll with the punches. 

He meets twice weekly in Marcus' office to catch up on the work he missed by starting late, and on Friday afternoons he sits with Eva to go over the week's events. He's on behavioural report - not because he's done anything wrong, but so his teachers can keep track of how he's coping - and after each glowing week, Eva smiles at him in the most encouraging way. She reminds him of how his mom used to be, and he feels she'd have been a great help back at East High. He's joined a couple of clubs: music, creative writing, the GSA. He won't admit to being part of them just to minimise how long he has to spend in the house, but it's definitely a possibility.

He gets along well with Lily, and he's met a couple of her friends. Her twin brother, Eric, whose laugh sounds like a donkey and lights up every room, and a lovely couple called Ayesha and Kat.

The five of them spend lunchtimes in the music classroom, and Eric wants them to start a band. They hype up Ricky's songs and ask him to help them with their homework, and he feels genuinely  _ needed  _ for the first time in a long while, the first time since the show.

Eric skates too. They spend Monday evenings at the skate park, practicing tricks while Lily films them. She sends over the clips in a big group chat they've started, the three of them along with Big Red, who already adores Ricky's new friends.

He calls his dad every night, and FaceTimes his friends from home at least once a week. They call him from rehearsals and give him all the inside scoop on the cast of the new show. He's getting used to life here, but still not letting go of home. He likes it this way, he thinks.

And he hasn't had a panic attack in almost a fortnight.

On paper, things are going well. He really does feel like things are okay.

Back at the house, though, things are far from perfect.

Ricky discovered quickly that Todd is a chef by trade, usually working part time at a fancy restaurant in the city. He has a personal rule to never eat the same dish twice in a month, and to aim for every meal to contain a rainbow of different coloured ingredients. He loves to experiment with texture and to reimagine traditional dishes with new complexities of flavour and experience. Which is all very lovely, of course, unless you're Ricky.

His routines are skewed beyond recognition, and so far there hasn't been a single dinner that has appealed to his narrow tastes. At best he manages a few bites, at worst he can't even get a forkful without gagging. He's spent so much of the last few weeks hungry that it's begun to feel normal.

Neither his mother nor Todd address it. Whether they've even noticed, he can't be sure. It feels like his mom has completely lost herself to this new relationship, thriving in how much more interesting Todd is than her ex-husband, everything about this fancy upper-middle class life exciting to her. Ricky tries her down to her old self and, while it was her idea to bring her son here in the first place she doesn't act as if his being in this house is anything important. He's here out of familiarity more than a mother's desire to be with her son.

Every evening, stomach rumbling, he finds himself wondering if he'll ever feel like he's actually living here. At the moment it's existing, surviving rather than being. 

Even when things are good he feels tired all the time, an exhaustion he can't shake. He's chalking it up to hunger, but it could really be a multitude of things - stress, overwork, discomfort. He's bogged down by the workload at school and still wary around Todd. When Eva asks how things are going at home he skirts around the question, because it's really a bigger transition than moving from East High to Redlands. The house -  _ home,  _ Lynn keeps calling it, but Ricky isn't there yet - is twice the size of his old one, and Todd is pretty much the polar opposite of Mike. School is school, and there's only so much that can set it aside from his old one (Gina said to him a couple days after he started at Redlands that schools are nothing without the people in them, and how she couldn't really tell any of her seven apart except for the friends she made) which means that his living situation is honestly a much bigger deal. When Eva suggested that, he laughed it off, reminding her that sixteen year old boys spend so much time in their bedrooms to even notice their parents.

She nodded, but scribbled something in her notebook as she kept the conversation going. He can imagine what it said -  _ Ricky is deflecting, doesn't want to talk about his home life. _

One Wednesday, a little over a month since he started at the new school, he decides to skate home. Usually he gets a ride from his mom or Todd, but GSA is cancelled and he keeps his board on him at school so he can practice in the parking lot during free periods, much to Marcus' chagrin.

The journey takes twenty minutes by car, and it's something like a seven mile trip. It's a stupidly long way, along densely populated city streets that his father would balk to know he was skating. Ricky is definitely an idiot for deciding to do it, but with the wind on his face and the familiar rattle of cement under his wheels makes him feel good.

He listens to Bears In Trees on the way back, some British band Kat introduced him to. The upbeat ukulele beats are a fun soundtrack to skate to, and the kinda downbeat lyrics matching the messy headspace he's in today.

This morning, Todd decided to make breakfast before Ricky left for school. He got up at 5 to start it, and had a full spread out by the time Ricky rolled out of bed in the morning. He forgets to say thank you, off-put by the change to his routines. He's made a lot of effort to make things feel normal - the special permissions for him to flounce the uniform rules, the regular calls home, throwing himself into extra-curriculars.

He's got a system now. He wakes up at 6:45, dressed by 7, grabs some plain toast and hops in his mom's car at 7:30. She drops him at school on her way to work, and he skates in the parking lot until the twins arrive at 8. They chat until the bell rings half an hour later, and then he does school. That's his routine. That's what Chicago-Ricky does. Maybe Utah-Ricky would've been up early to share a special breakfast with his parents, but that doesn't happen here.

"I gotta get to school."

"I have the day off." Lynn responds. "I can drive you later today, so you don't have to hang around so long."

"I'm meeting the twins."

"You can be a little later today. Todd made us this lovely breakfast."

"I was gonna make toast."

"Fuck sake."

Todd had mumbled under his breath, but both Ricky and his mom heard it. Lynn's face paled, and Ricky clenched his fists.

"Excuse me?"

"You know how long I spent on this? Two hours, kid. You were in  _ bed  _ when I started this."

"I didn't ask." He mutters.

"Ricky." His mom's tone is a warning.

"I made a nice breakfast, to treat you, because I wanted to do something nice. Because you never eat my cooking, and I want you to feel like part of this home,  _ Ricky. _ It's not my fault you're the fussiest eater I've ever met, but I wanted to do something. Your mom and I are seriously trying to make this work."

"Todd, sweetie—"

"No, Lynn! He's being ungrateful, and I don't deserve that! You don't deserve that!"

"I'm not ungrateful!"

"Ricky…"

"We want you to feel happy here! We didn't have to bring you here!"

Ricky snapped. "Then why did you?!"

Blinded by rage, he spun around on the balls of his feet and slammed a balled fist against the wall. He left a hole in the drywall and burst into tears when the pain hit, suddenly shaking and banging his forehead against the door frame. He barely processed as Todd had gripped his wrists and pulled him backwards, restraining him while his mom frantically tried to talk him down.

He shoved Todd off and grabbed his bags and skateboard from the front hall, still shaking with rage, and Lynn took him out to the car. As usual, he made it to school a little before 8, and went through the day on autopilot. His friends tried to ask what was wrong, but he kept it to himself, the throbbing of his now-bruised knuckles enough to put him off rehashing the morning's events. 

So yeah, the day wasn't great. And he really fucking needs this time to get back to himself.

Utah-Ricky had his fair share of meltdown related injuries, and plenty of fights with his parents. Utah-Ricky would have styled it out with a trip to the skate park with Red, or a particularly distracting rehearsal with the theatre kids. Chicago-Ricky can't do that, and so a long trip on his board through the streets of the city he now has to call his own will have to suffice.

He's almost back at the house when it happens.

A rogue tree root, pushing up through the sidewalk. He doesn't see it because he's too wrapped up in reliving his shitty morning, and because  _ fuck _ , why are there even trees along the side of this major road? He goes over it in less than half a second, on the ground in less than two. He hears the sickening crunch of the bones in his hand, the same one he hurt this morning. He narrowly avoids messing his face up, and hears his board slow to a stop a couple feet away.

He rolls onto his back, groaning in pain for a moment. His head is throbbing dully and his wrist feels like it's on fire, but as a cluster of passersby gather round to try and help him all he can do is laugh.

He laughs as he stares up at the sky, which is starting to roll over with cloud. He laughs until tears form in his eyes and the kind strangers start asking frantic questions in an attempt to figure out if he has a concussion.

He isn't. Beyond the wrist (which is almost certainly broken) has totally okay, physically. But mentally, this feels like such a fucking metaphor for his life. One minute he was there, sailing along against the wind, picking up the pieces of everything out of his control and piecing them together in a way that made him feel like he was on top of the world. Next thing he knew, everything crashed around him. 

As long as he's in Chicago, everything is going to feel like this moment. Everything is going to feel like he's sprawled on the pavement, bruised and broken and being stared at by people that can't really help. Nothing will ever feel like a smooth skate through those familiar Salt Lake streets - he's going to be fucking stuck like this for longer than he knows how to bear.

Two more years. 

What else is there to do but laugh?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again i'm really really sorry for how much this sucks, future chapters will be less disastrous i promise
> 
> it's 4am so i'm gnna use that as an excuse for this being terrible
> 
> apologies


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw / panic attacks, underage drinking
> 
> hello and welcome to yet another messy drunken update

Breaking his arm turns out to be one of the best things that could have happened to Ricky. It complicates things a little, makes it so he can't play guitar or skate for a while, and he needs to bring his laptop to school so he can type up his notes. But in most ways, it's pretty good.

Kids he never spoke to before now come up to him in the halls and ask questions about how he hurt his arm, and whether they can sign his cast. He gets extensions on his homework and sympathy from people. One girl offered to carry his books for him, and Eric ridiculed him the whole next day for not realising she was trying to flirt.

Best of all, his mom and Todd have been blaming themselves.

It sounds awful, to suggest that he should _want_ them to feel bad, but this whole situation - long before the injury, right from that night in the Chinese restaurant - is on them, and they deserve to squirm in their seats a little at the realisation that Ricky is messed up as a direct result of being here.

He gets left alone, for the most part.

These days, Todd only bothers to cook for two. He keeps in enough ingredients for Ricky to make his comfort foods, but between one-handed cookery being a chore and the desire to never leave his bedroom, Ricky still isn't eating much. 

His mom has been attempting to make peace, build bridges by buying him stuff and not giving him any chores. He has no responsibilities anymore, and most nights he's asleep by 11 because there's simply nothing better to do. Quite a few evenings, he's invited his school friends over.

Lily and Eric make it over the most, but sometimes the girls come too. They're not allowed to colonise anywhere but Ricky's room, which is barely big enough for one person, let alone five. Ricky misses when he had a back yard. It's fine, though, because he gets to order pizza and his friends all rave about how cool his "parents" are for being so lenient. He never bothers defending that Todd isn't his dad, or explaining that leaving him to his own devices isn't the same thing as being good.

Two weeks after breaking his arm, he invites the twins to sleep over. Eric declines in favour of visiting his girlfriend for the weekend, but Lily arrives on Friday evening with a backpack full of sleepover gear and a grin on her face.

"I brought a bunch of card games I don't know how to play. Can we make coffee?"

It's date night for Lynn and Todd, leaving the house a free-for-all. Ricky is tempted to see how far he can push that boundary - Lily may he quiet, but she's fully capable of trashing the entire place in under an hour.

"D'you wanna do something fun?"

"I'm listening."

He guides her through to the front room and let's her dump her bag in the pile of blankets he's set up in front of the TV. He then starts to rifle through the cabinets, Lily eyeing him curiously the whole time.

"Ta-da!" He returns with two bottles of sparkling white wine.

"Ricky…"

"C'mon, they have tons of this stuff. They're a middle aged white couple in the suburbs, there's more than they know how to count."

"I just don't think—"

"You're the one who's always saying how chill they are. It'll be fun."

She looks him up and down for a few more seconds before shrugging and extending a hand. 

"Fuck it, let's go."

She takes a few slow sips, and her eyes widen as she sees Ricky chug half the bottle in one go. She tries to question him, but he laughs it off and keeps drinking. Within 20 minutes he's a drunken, giggling mess. Lily gives up on trying to make him be responsible, and starts trying to match him drink for drink.

They set some shitty teen drama playing on Netflix and sit facing each other. They make idle chatter about nothing for almost an hour before Lily suggests a few drinking games.

"Never have I ever...had a crush on someone of the same gender?"

Ricky drinks. "You know the aim is for you _not_ to drink, right? Never have I ever had a twin."

"Dick." A swig of her wine. "Never have I ever moved states."

"Never have I ever played violin."

"Never have I ever written a song."

"Never have I ever accidentally stolen something from WalMart and cried for 45 minutes because you thought you were going to go to jail."

"You're such a fucking asshole!" She takes a swig. "Never have I ever been in a musical. "

He doesn't drink. For some reason, the reminder of East High makes the alcohol catch up and he suddenly feels sick. 

He turns around, casting his bottle aside and pulling his knees into his chest. His lungs feel like they're in a vice, yet again, his hands start to shake. 

"Ricky? Shit, Rick, I—"

"I'm sorry."

"Ricky—"

"I'm sorry. "

He's gasping for air, his previously enjoyable state of buzz now suffocating. He doesn't get how anybody drinks for fun. 

"Are you having a panic attack?"

"I'm sorry."

He clutches himself in a tight but ineffective hug, trying seriously hard to bring himself some comfort. He can hear his blood rushing in his ears and his eyes sting incessantly, even when he squeezes them shut to hold back tears.

Lily is nervously stuttering but he can't make out the words. It's weeks since this has happened, and this feels like the worst one yet. Every panic attack always feels like the most world-ending one you've ever had, but he genuinely feels as if he's never been lower. This tops closing night, or the uniform store, or any other time. He just wants everything to stop.

He regrets the fucking wine.

Before pictures of home started flashing through his head he had felt like he was floating, but now the drunken haze has him so far off the ground he's being strangled by clouds.

He's come to the conclusion that alcohol makes you feel everything 100 times more. He's used to being over-emotional, but this is a new level of too much. 

There's a clattering noise, and suddenly there's a presence at his side, pulling him into a tight embrace and muttering into his hair. He wants to scream at whoever it is - not Lily, they're too tall and too hands-on - to let him go, their well-intentioned grip making him feel even more nauseous. His whole body is on fire, the panic running over him in waves that feel like bugs under his skin, and the physical contact only exacerbates it.

He passes out.

The clock on his bedside table reads 2am when he wakes up again. He's in pyjamas somehow, binderless and confused, completely disoriented with how and when he ended up in his room. He thrashed about in quick, sleep-addled panic until a hand atop his stills him.

His mom is seated awkwardly in a stiff wooden chair by his bed. Her hair is a mess and there's bags under her eyes he's never seen before.

"What happened?"

"Todd drove Lily home. Drink some water, you're about to have a killer headache."

She gets up to walk to the door, content to go to bed now she's seen he's awake and alive. She turns back as she reaches the doorway, more disappointed than he's ever seen her.

"We'll talk about this tomorrow."

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah. You always are."

It's hard to fall asleep again after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmk what you thought of this? it's a. Weird chapter i know but i think from this point forward i have an actual idea of where the story is going rather than just "jay gets sad at 3am and hurts ricky however first comes to mind"


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw / mention of underage drinking

The house is eerily quiet when Ricky comes back to consciousness on Saturday. Usually he's woken on weekends by Todd using the home gym, obsessively on the elliptical from 7am onwards (like a crazy person, but nobody ever points that out).

He wanders downstairs with a blanket wrapped around him, and finds his mom sitting at the kitchen table with a pot of coffee. She's surrounded by documents from work, looking frazzled. When she spots Ricky, she packs up her laptop and turns to him with a sigh.

"Sit."

"Can I get some—"

"Sit. Down."

Realising there's no room for argument, he flops dejectedly into the chair.

"Todd's in work this morning, so this is happening now. We're talking about last night."

"I'm sorry, I—"

"Four bottles of wine? Seriously? I leave you alone for one night, and you run through half my alcohol cabinet?"

"We were just messing around, I'll replace it."

"It's not about the drinks, Ricky. It's the fact you were drinking at all. It's about trust."

He tries not to scoff at the ridiculousness of her talking about the importance of trust.

Lynn Bowen, of all people, can't lecture  _ him  _ about trust. He trusted her not to leave him, trusted her to always do right by her son, trusted her not to drag him 1500 miles away right when he needed his friends the most. If it's the breaking of trust they have to discuss, Ricky has a much more substantial bone to pick with her. 

"Anything could've happened, Ricky."

"And Lily called you, so it would've been fine."

"And if she had hurt herself? If one of you had been allergic, or got alcohol poisoning? If you'd fallen asleep and not woken up?"

"It was  _ wine. _ "

"You could've asked. You want a glass of wine with dinner? Sure, I'm not  _ strict.  _ I'm happy to let you experiment safely, at home—"

"I'm not  _ at  _ home."

She slams a fist on the table, and closes her eyes. He can hear her count to ten under her breath.

"Look, I don't know what your  _ dad  _ lets you get away with -" she says dad with such venom that Ricky clenched his fists involuntarily. "- but it won't fly here. I brought you here so you'd start getting your shit together."

"What, so this is dad's fault?"

"You never used to be like this!"

There she goes again, using how Ricky used to be as a justification for her own shitty parenting. He has no clue how to get through to her that he was never going to be exactly how he was before she left. Because her leaving was a catalyst, whether he knew it at the time or not.

He's always had issues, of course.

As a kid, he had sensory issues and undiagnosed behavioural problems. He was anxious, often angry, and it took him forever to trust people. But he had two parents that loved him, and when he managed to make friends they bonded for life. It was that first moment - Lynn leaving - that started to change that.

She went away, still claiming work (though he's since realised the timelines don't line up, and that she and Todd have been together longer than she and Mike have been apart) and left Ricky to fend for himself. His dad detached, and Ricky pushed Nini away because he was subconsciously afraid of following his parents. When he broke up with Nini he lost himself to the turmoil of it, and started treating Big Red like a sidekick rather than a confidant. Basically, Lynn kickstarted everything falling apart.

He picked things back up by himself, having eventually adjusted to life with only one parent, and then there she was again.

She ruined things by leaving, then ruined them by coming back. Now she has the audacity to act as if that all meant nothing.

"You aren't listening to me."

"Like you ever listen to me?"

"I am your  _ mother. _ "

"And I'm your son."

"You have to tell me why you're being like this, Ricky. I get that you're sixteen, but…"

There she goes again.

The musical, his age, his dad, his school - anything but her. 

He wonders why adults are allowed to be this selfish. He blames other people for his problems and he gets a lecture, but when grown-ups do it then suddenly that's just the way things should be. 

Much as he tries to push it down, there's a white hot rage rising up in him. It bubbles in the pit of his stomach and presses underneath his skin, leaving him a volcano ready to erupt. He's angry. He's  _ really _ fucking angry. He's never felt like he hated someone before, let alone his mom. He wants to love her, he does. He wants to feel normal, like any kid that can bounce off his parents and love them and resent them and care for them. As it is, all he feels for his mom is rage.

"I'm being like this because you've ruined my fucking life!"

" _ Excuse _ me?"

"You've fucking ruined me! You're ruining me!"

His vision is blurring. 

"You fuck me up, and you drag me away from myself, and you screw me over and you blame _ everyone _ but yourself! You fucking… you keep trying to fix me, but you're _ making _ problems to resolve because you can't see far enough past your own shitty fucking bubble to see that everything you think is wrong with me is because of  _ you.  _ You fucking  _ hate  _ me and you don't even realise that you gave me everything you fucking hate!"

"Go to your room." Her voice is barely above a whisper.

"You want a kid so bad you'll keep tearing apart the one you had to make the one you want."

"Go to your _ room." _

"You hate me."

"Ricky—"

"You hate me so fucking much."

" _ Ricky—" _

"You keep making me worse. You're making me fucking worse."

He didn't want things to go like this.

He doesn't want to keep pushing this. Yes, Lynn makes him worse, but he keeps on fucking letting her.

His eyes are burning, skin crawling, heart beating out of his chest, lungs restricting, skull throbbing. His arm aches dully, and he realises he's been gripping his cast with his good hand, picking at the plaster with his nail.

He feels like he's on fire.

"I'm going out."

"I don't deserve this."

He picks up his board, not turning back to face her. Her voice sounds wet, slightly teary, and if he looks at her he'll crack.

"Don't wait up."

He slams the door behind him, knowing he's finally broken the relationship with his mother that has been fracturing for months.

He doesn't know how it happened. He doesn't know whether it's good or bad. He doesn't know whether he can ever fix it.

He doesn't fucking know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is kind of a weird chapter but hopefully not too messy?? i have a plan for this whole fic from now onwards so chapters will at least have some structure from this point forward
> 
> thank you to everyone that comments on this story bc it rlly does make me feel better about how insecure i am abt my writing ? so thank u for reading even when i cant write anything good
> 
> so thank you


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw / panic attacks, smoking, references to alcohol and disordered eating

**_ERIC FROM SHREK_ **

_ get dressed, picking u up _

_ @ 6 xoxoxo _

_ ,,, wot _

**_ILY LILY_ **

_ the vday dance dumbass _

**_ILY LILY_ **

_ katsha r goin together n amaya _

_ cancelled on eric so we're goin _

_ as a squad of 3 uwu _

_ u mean ur mom hasn't banned _

_ me from being friends w u after _

_ last weekend :o _

**_ERIC FROM SHREK_ **

_ lily is a sneaky bitch n hasn't _

_ informed our parents that the _

_ devil's juice was involved _

**_ERIC FROM SHREK_ **

_ no but like. its totally chill and u _

_ gotta come _

Ricky hasn't actually considered the Valentine's dance. He's not been to a dance since homecoming, and he really isn't in the mood for it.

The week since the fight with his mom has been rough. He's barely been in the house, and when he's there he's being completely ignored. He barely sleeps, doesn't eat, and the entire world is getting on top of him.

School is, surprisingly, the only place he actually find himself feeling good, which should probably push him to go to the dance. But he's fucking exhausted, honestly, and a dance is really more than he wants to do. Going to a school dance makes him part of the school, and right now he's still trying to convince himself that Redlands is a temporary measure.

_ not rlly in the mood tonight bro _

**_ILY LILY_ **

_ u have no choice bb _

_ i rlly dont do dances _

**_ILY LILY_ **

_ THAT'S A FUCKING LIE big _

_ red showed me ur hoco pics >:( _

**_ERIC FROM SHREK_ **

_ if u aren't having fun by 8:30 i'll drive _

_ u home but i wanna get u out the house _

**_ERIC FROM SHREK_ **

_ u've been moping for like. a week n _

_ i'm TIRED i miss ur lil smile _

**_ILY LILY_ **

_ red would want u to xoxoxoxo _

_ u Can Not use a crush against _

_ me liliana smh _

_ red would want me to be in his _

_ basement with him _

**_ERIC FROM SHREK_ **

_ kinky ;) ;) ;) _

**_ERIC FROM SHREK_ **

_ no but fr get ready bro ur coming 2nite _

_ bc we want u to have fun _

Rolling his eyes, Ricky slides out of bed and rifles through his closet. He didn't bring much formal wear with him, considering he had no plans to do anything like this.

He picks out a deep red button up and some skinny black dress pants, deciding that comes close enough to dance attire. He avoids looking in the mirror as he slips into his clothes, knowing full well that he probably looks as grim as he feels.

Checking his phone, he realises there's still a good twenty minutes until the twins arrive (provided they're on time, which would be a first). This is around the time his mom should be getting home from work, and he  _ really  _ doesn't want to face her right now.Were he at home, he'd climb out of the window - his dad complains about it constantly, but it's a great way of slipping out unseen. Here, though, his bedroom backs onto a major road, and the only way out is through the front door.

His cast makes his whole outfit look a little clunky, but he slips on a navy blue bomber jacket and calls it a day.

Trying to slip down the stairs unnoticed was, as expected, a bust.

"You look fancy."

Todd's voice is its usual chirpy self. He's spent the last week trying to mend the tension in the house by throwing positivity at everyone, but nobody is giving in. No matter how many smiley comments or cheesy jokes Todd throws at them, Lynn still sulks and Ricky still disappears.

"Thanks."

"Going somewhere good?"

Ricky just wants to get down the stairs.

"School dance. I'll be home by ten."

Todd stops him. "...Will there be alcohol?"

"It's a  _ school  _ dance. Can I go?"

"You really upset your mom the other day."

"Can I go?"

"I'm serious, Ricky. If you're going to be living under this roof—"

" _ Please  _ just let me down the stairs." He interjects, shoving past.

He doesn't listen to whatever Todd calls out to him as he leaves the house, and slinks past his mother in the driveway without a word. This day has already put him off all forms of social interaction, but there's no chance of his friends letting him back out of this evening, so he just falters on the sidewalk and awaits the arrival of Eric's familiar truck.

A quick look at the time assures him he won't be waiting long - a blessed relief, considering the way the curtains of the house are flickering and he feels his mother's eyes boring into him.

"See, I told you he cleans up nice!"

He can hear Eric's voice before he sees the car, and its enough to bring a smile to his face despite everything. 

Lily leans out of the window as they pull up to the curb.

"Get in, loser. We're going gatecrashing."

"Does it count as gatecrashing if it's a school function we were actively invited to?" He responds, clambering into the front seat.

"Three queers turning up dateless to a Valentine's dance? That's as crash-y as it gets." Eric quips back. He offers a pack of cigarettes. "Want one? You seem tense."

"He's always tense."

He flips Lily off with one hand, and takes a smoke with the other. He coughs for a moment after lighting it, which causes his friends to laugh at him, but before long they're moving through the streets with ease and enjoying the buzz of nicotine.

They detour on the way to grab food, knowing that nothing would be more embarrassing than rocking up early to a 7pm start at a school event. They split a portion of fries between the three of them, but Ricky doesn't actually have any. He still feels like shit, and the ever-present anxiety twists his stomach to the point of nausea. The last thing he wants is to puke up some half-digested french fries on the dance floor. When the twins try to question him on it, he just laughs it off and calls them out for worrying too much. 

They arrive at school fifteen minutes after the scheduled start and immediately blend in with the crowd. 

Surprisingly, it's actually pretty fun. 

They take turns dancing in pairs for the slow songs, and have fun during the more upbeat ones. They meet with Kat and Ayesha, and the five of them stick to the sidelines - not so far out as to look like outcasts, but not awkwardly in the middle of the action. It's the social position Ricky's fallen comfortably into at Redlands, and he can't say he's mad at it.

8:30 rolls around sooner than expected.

"So, verdict - is this so unbearable you want me to drive you home immediately?"

Ricky laughs it off. "I'll survive."

His phone buzzes and he diverts his attention to texting Big Red back, letting him know that yeah, everything's fine, and he'll call tomorrow. He's so engrossed in replying that he doesn't hear the opening bars of the next song until Kat pipes up.

"Jesus, who made this playlist? I haven't heard this song since middle school."

Phasing back into the sounds, Ricky's heart stops.

Born To Be Brave. Nini's favourite song, the song from homecoming.

Suddenly, everything rushes back. It hits Ricky all at once, how much he shouldn't be enjoying this. How every second that he spends smiling at Redlands, he should be  _ home _ , happy with his true friends back at East High. It's unfair to the people he's grown up with, bared his soul to on countless occasions, those who've loved him at his worst. It's a disservice to them for him to make new friends.

It's irrational. He knows it's irrational. His friends from home  _ love  _ his friends here, and they want Ricky happy. Not one of them is angry at him for settling here.

It doesn't matter how irrational it is, though, because the subconscious thought has already triggered a breakdown. His hands are already shaking, he can feel it. He likely has less than a minute before he's gasping for air and making a spectacle of himself. 

He runs out of the room in a blind panic, and his knees buckle before he can reach the parking lot.

He's gagging in the hallway, completely incapable of managing even a single breath. His chest goes tight and he curls in on himself. He grabs his hair with an iron grip and tries to hone in on some steady sound - traffic outside, or a clock on the wall, anything that he can try and match his breathing to. It doesn't work, and he feels crowded by his friends that have rushed to help him. He hears Marcus, who's been chaperoning the dance, telling them to back up and give him some space.

He tries to steady himself, gulping down the slightest bit of oxygen he can, and tries to speak.

"Eric—" Another gulp. "Can you give me a—"

He can't finish what he's asking, but luckily Eric figures out what he means and hands him a cigarette. He picks Ricky up by the elbow and helps him stagger on shaky legs outside, where the group of them flop to sit on the pacing slabs. Ricky lights the cig and takes a drag, the first stable inhale he's managed since the panic attack began. Though his hands still tremble, it works to calm him.

It's not the nicotine that's helping him in this moment. It's the slow, steady breaths in and out. He can't manage to make himself do it when oxygen is the only incentive.

By the time the embers are close to burning his still-numb fingertips, he can at least see straight. The worst is over, though the anxious fog still clouds his brain. He can see and process the scared looks on his friends' faces, and the gentle disapproving concern from Marcus.

"Sorry."

"You don't have to apologise."

"It's alright."

"You're all good."

Ricky curls in on himself a little, and Marcus ushers the others back inside before sitting beside him.

"You alright there, kid?"

"Sorry."

"It's alright. Panic attack?"

"Uh-huh. There was a song."

Marcus nods understandingly, reaching out a hand to rub Ricky's shoulder. They remain quiet for a few minutes, soaking in the cold air and the new aura of calm that's descended on Ricky since his breathing slowed. 

"Y'know, I can't approve of the smoking."

"It helped." Ricky laughs sadly, running his hands over his face to rid himself of tear tracks. "Better than nothing."

"Sure." Marcus laughs back. "You might want some deodorant before you go home, though. Do you want me to ring your mom?"

Ricky sits up a little straighter, glancing at the plate glass door and seeing his friends still hovering, concern etched into their features.

"I think I wanna stay. I guess I gotta start letting myself be happy."

Marcus smiles, and pats him on the back. "That's the best any of us can do. C'mon, then."

Wandering back inside, Ricky allows his friends to engulf him in a hug and follows them back through to the hall. The next song that plays brings a smile to his face, and he dances right through the last track.

Despite it all, he lets himself be happy.

In a way, he feels free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heLLO i've been gone for a couple days but i'm back with whatever the fuck this is,,, hopefully it didnt suck?? idk let me know what u think
> 
> also: i love joshua bassett
> 
> goodnight


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this took way too long to get up i apologise,,, unedited as always so i apologise for any mistakes

The last week of school before break drags horrendously, but it all feels worth it when Ricky remembers that, come Friday afternoon, he'll be on a plane to Utah. There's an early finish on Friday, and Eric is driving him back to the house to pick up his bag and head to the airport.

He's been packed for well over a week now, with Big Red's birthday present perfectly wrapped and protected with a layer of sweaters in the heart of his suitcase. His leg is bouncing the whole way through class, from the minute he arrives at school right through to the final bell. His friends laugh at him, amused by all the nervous energy he's not even trying to conceal, but he can't find it in himself to care. In just a few hours, he'll be with Red, and his dad. He'll be lying in his own bed, seeing in the 29th of February with one of his favourite human beings on the planet. It's what's been getting him through these last few weeks, and it's getting him through today.

He should have realised things were going to shit as soon as he saw Todd's fucking minivan in the driveway.

What should have been all of five minutes in and out - grabbing a bag, grabbing his travel essentials, grabbing his phone charger - was immediately derailed. His mom and Todd are standing in the hallway, grim expressions on their faces as if they're about to deliver terrible news. Which, of course, they probably are.

"Can I get upstairs?"

"Ricky, we have to talk to you… Can you send your friends home?"

"They have to drive me to the airport."

He probably sounds like an idiot - he knows where this conversation is going, and it's far from ideal. He's trying to pretend for as long as possible that he doesn't understand.

"Ricky." Lynn sighs. "You're not going to the airport."

"My flight is in a couple hours."

"Todd and I have been talking—"

"What does  _ he  _ have to do with this?"

He can feel his eyes burning, but he refuses to cry.

"This is  _ our  _ home, Ricky." Todd begins. "Yours as much as mine."

"This isn't my home! I'm supposed to be  _ going  _ home now!"

"That's the problem!" His mom retorts, looking pained. "We're trying so hard to settle you here, baby, and going back to Utah is going to set you back."

"And you're telling me this  _ now?  _ I should be getting there in seven hours!"

He moves forward, trying to push past them and up the stairs, but Todd reaches out and grips him by the shoulder. Ricky attempts to wriggle out but fails, and finds himself bristling with rage. 

"I've already called your dad. We've agreed this is what's best for you."

"How do you know what's right for me? If you  _ cared  _ I wouldn't be here!"

Lynn sighs. "I'm going to go out and send the twins home. You'll thank me for this, Rick."

He's still twitching, trying to get out of Todd's hold, and doing everything in his power not to punch the irritating man in the stomach.

He wishes either of the adults had the decency to look sorry.

It only takes around a minute for his mom to get back inside, and once she does Todd finally lets him go. Ricky pulls away with a glare and storms up the stairs as forcefully as he can. He slams the door and slides down the wall, fists clenched and chest tight.

He wants more than anything to cry, but his stomach is in knots and none of his emotions will boil to the surface. He grabs a pillow that's been lying on the floor and clutches it to his chest, burying his face in it and breathing into it. He can hear his mom and Todd speaking outside the door, but he tunes it out.

He still has hours until his friends from home get out of school, and much as he wishes he could call them he knows he needs to wait. Rising to his feet on shaky legs, traipses to the bed and curls into it. He sets an alarm for 4:30, when he knows Red will be home, and does his best to fall asleep.

It takes a little under ten minutes for him to pass out, and life hits him like a train when he wakes up again. He blinks away the sleep from his eyes, the whole world hazy for a few seconds, making him feel like he's moving through treacle as he reaches over to pick up his phone, and then he realises - he's in his Chicago bed. His breath catches in his throat, even more so when he sees all the texts he's missed from his Utah friends wishing him a safe flight, and raving about how much they can't wait to see him.

With his heart clenching, he opens FaceTime and hits 'call' on Big Red's contact.

He picks up in less than one ring. The signature Redonovich grin is plastered across his face, all dopey and sweet. His smile instantly sets Ricky at ease.

"Hey, bro!"

"Hey." Ricky's voice is crackly with disuse, quiet and noticeably sad.

"That doesn't look like a plane?" Red looks puzzled, though the smile doesn't leave his face. "Are you getting a later flight?"

"I'm not coming." That admission is all it takes for the tears from earlier to brim, sliding silently down his cheeks. "My mom won't let me."

"Oh. Well, hey, at least we'll still see each other at Easter!"

"I d'know, Big Red. She's being really… restrictive? Protective? I don't know. She won't let me go anywhere."

"Did she say why? Hey, hey, don't cry! It's okay, Ricky."

"It's not okay! I'm missing your birthday."

"You're only a phone call away!"

"I wanna be with you." He sniffles. "I miss you."

He's been lying down this whole time, but he chooses this moment to sit up. He holds the pillow to his chest, hugging it closely, and rests his phone on the side table against a stack of books. 

He runs a hand over his face, wiping his tears and steadying himself.

"Sorry for being a downer!"

"It's okay! Hey, how's that school?"

Ricky laughs. "It's alright, I guess. My teachers don't suck."

"What about that English project? The novel one, I mean."

He can see what Red's doing. He knows this conversation is just do distract him, to move him on from the rough topic of not coming home. He does appreciate, though, that Red is asking about his Chicago life. Usually his friends from home talk about home, which is fine, but it is nice to have someone try to acknowledge that Chicago is real.

"Pretty alright, actually. The pitching sessions are the first week back after break, so I have a bit to do still."

"You still naming a character after me?"

"Of course. How do you expect me to pitch a story about skate rat lovers without including my favourite skate rat?"

The project is a fun one, actually. It's nothing like he's ever done in school before - they all have to pitch a novel, in a presentation with character outlines and a narrative structure based off themes they picked from a hat. Ricky's themes were social deviance, urban landscapes, and dystopian authority, so he's decided on a story about a society where romance is banned and two skaters fall in love and run away to a huge city to lose themselves as lovers.

Red has been his biggest supporter since he first mentioned the project back in January. They talk about it every time they call, and Red seems genuinely invested.

He realises, a pleasant warmth spilling over him, that things feel  _ normal  _ like this.

It seems, as it always does when Red is concerned, like Ricky exists as a person, as more than just a product of his circumstances. He feels whole, like even when everything crumbles around him he can come back to himself in a conversation like this.

Time passes quickly and slowly all at once - the hours go by, but the two of them relish every minute like it's lasting forever.

Before this moment, Ricky hadn't realised that people could feel like home. 

"It's getting kinda late there, isn't it?" Red asks, spying Ricky's yawn.

"Almost eleven." He responds, glancing at the clock. 

He doesn't understand how they've been on call for more than six hours, but he plans to stay on the phone for at least another few, provided Red doesn't hang up. Red's dopey grin somehow lights up the room, even from 1500 miles away through a pixelated screen.

"Shouldn't you sleep?"

"I'm on break. I wanna see in your birthday."

Red bites his lip. "You sure?"

"Always." Ricky smiles softly back. "How are rehearsals going, by the way?"

"Really good, actually. I'm dancing in the show, actually." He blushes as he casts his eyes down nervously. "Ash kinda told Ms. Jenn that I can tap."

"That's awesome! Shit, dude, I'm so proud of you!"

"It's not that big a—"

"It is a  _ huge  _ deal! Dude!"

Before Red can deny the awesomeness of the fact again, Ricky is pressing for details - begging to know what he's doing, how long he's been rehearsing, how big his role is. He fawns over Red's short rendition of his choreo - he blushes the whole time, and swears he's better outside of his basement, but all Ricky can think is how incredible his best friend is.

It's wonderful to just talk, and to see Red in his element.

"You're so  _ good. _ "

"Shut up!" Red whines with a grin. "I'm not special."

"You're pretty fuckin' special, Red. You gotta think higher of yourself."

"Says you!"

"I'm allowed to think badly of myself, I'm flawed. You, on the other hand…"

"Shut up! You're great!"

"You're greater."

They keep on bickering like that for a while, and the conversation flows beautifully into other things. In fact, they get so wrapped up in each other that Ricky barely notices the clock inching round and round, past midnight and into Saturday morning. It's a few minutes before one when he finally realises.

"Shit! It's almost your birthday!"

"It already is, where you are." Red smirks.

"Yeah, but here doesn't count. Give me two minutes, I gotta go find something."

He leaves his phone on the side, the call still running, and dashes down to the kitchen. He doesn't bother padding quietly down the stairs, knowing full well that if his mom and Todd are woken by him they won't say a word - they know they're in the wrong here and they've not bothered to address him all night on the understanding that Ricky has the upper hand.

The kitchen makes him feel nauseous.

He avoids this room like the plague, and the energy of the space drives him to the edge of discomfort. He rifles through the cupboards, searching for something he'd always just assumed would be there. If he was at home, this wouldn't be difficult.

With a quick glance at the clock - 00:58 - and a sigh, he takes hold of an apple and a pack of birthday candles and sprints back to his bedroom. Red looks bewildered, but Ricky just shoots him a grin as he holds up the apple, breathless and proud of himself.

He sticks one of the candles in the stalk of the apple and grabs a lighter from beside his packet of cigarettes in the bedside drawer. As the clock strikes one, he lights it.

"Happy birthday, Mr. Redonovich. Make a wish."

"You're an idiot." Big Red replies, an affectionate smirk lighting up his face. "Make a wish for me. I can't blow the candle out from here."

A whisper of a smile dances across Ricky's features and he pulls the apple toward his lips. He shuts his eyes and breathes in, holding the wish in his mind.

_ I wish to leave Chicago. I wish to see Big Red in person soon. I wish to see my friends in their show. I wish to go home. _

He blows out the flame, and lets the wisps of smoke dance around his head.

"Did you wish for something good?"

Without pausing for thought, Ricky nods.

"I wished for the best. Happy birthday, Red."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please lmk what u thought !! i think this is quite different to the other chapters so uhhh??? screams???


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw / disordered eating discussed in depth

"You look like shit."

Ricky doesn't dignify Ayesha's affectionate jibe with a response, choosing instead to flip off his friends. 

"Seriously bro, did you sleep last night?" Eric asks, in a voice somewhere between mockery and genuine concern.

The answer, of course, is no. Exhaustion is written across Ricky's entire person - two days without sleep and even longer without a solid meal has him strung out and fraying at the edges. He has good reason, though. The exams he's taking today decide his grades for this term, decide how much his mom will crack down on him after the Easter break. He  _ needs  _ to do well, or moving here will all have been for nothing. They moved him for his grades, and so his grades are all he has.

"Jesus, dude. These tests aren't that important, bro." Kat tries. "You wanna go… take a nap or something?"

"I can't. I have, like, three chapters to go over before 1:30."

"We can talk through it at lunch, c'mon." Lily pleads, but he waves her off, eyes still trained on the pages of his textbook, the words blurring before him.

He knows it's not good for him.

These last few days - two weeks, almost - since he got his cast off he's been struggling. He realised pretty quickly that he'd started to rely on the ever-present dull ache in his wrist, and now it's healed he's trying to find something to fill that void.

He noticed, as the days dragged by and he kept forgetting to cook for himself, too lost in his studying and sadness, that hunger pangs have the same effect on him. Slightly punishing, and enough to keep him alert. Just enough discomfort to remind him that he's in this position because of his own faults - if he'd just been a better student, a better friend, a better son, he'd be home right now. He's decided he deserves the suffering.

He doesn't doubt his friends have noticed.

Whilst Lynn and Todd are carrying on unfazed, never picking up on or confronting Ricky's issues, his school friends have all made it a mission to make sure he eats at least something every day. None of them have said that's what they're doing, but Ricky isn't blind to the way Kat slides her bag of chips closer at lunch, or how Lily offers him an apple every morning before first period. They've even started skipping out on going to the music room during their lunch periods, as if dragging Ricky along to the cafeteria will push him to get something.

It hasn't worked yet, and he figures he likely has less than a week before one of them calls him out, tackling the subject with words instead of ineffectual actions.

Today, however, they give up. He's completely switched off, blanking them to focus on his work. Each time a wave of tiredness threatens to distract him from the page, he'll be brought back to attention by a dull, stabbing ache deep in his gut. Though all logic screams that it's  _ bad bad bad, a slippery slope,  _ there's a twisted part of him, right at the back of his mind, that's impressed with how he's holding out, impressed with how much torture he can inflict upon himself without giving up.

Really, this is all a game with himself. How far can he push it, how long can it go on? How many days, weeks, months will it take for one of the adults that's supposed to be caring for him to actually realise he's falling apart at the seams?

He can't believe they've not said anything. He's not looked at himself properly in weeks, but he can  _ feel  _ the edges of himself slip away into a ghostly nothingness, his physical self shrinking as Chicago takes its toll. He's sure he must look like a fucking shadow at this point, but his mom hasn't said a word. She's barely looked at him since the argument about Red's birthday, and some days Ricky questions if she even remembers that she's dragged him here in the first place. He feels like an afterthought, like he could completely fade away and Lynn wouldn't realise until Mike came knocking a few months down the line to question why he's stopped hearing from his son.

All he has right now are these exams. Everything is riding on them, and if he can just get Lynn and Todd to take notice, to realise that he's improving at school, things could finally get better here. They'll stop being annoyed about his grades, stop reminding him at every opportunity that he's here for his own good, stop bringing up college applications five times a day.

He just has to get through this week. Four days left, seven exams. Easy. He'll ace them, like he always had before this year, and he'll be old Ricky again.

Old Ricky doesn't cry every night. Old Ricky doesn't lie in bed wishing sleep would take him, staring at the ceiling thinking  _ "shit, is this all there is for me?" _ . Old Ricky doesn't muffle panic attacks in the sleeve of a sweater, or hide out in bathroom stalls until his hands stop shaking. Old Ricky doesn't close himself off from the things he loves just so that the searing ache of reality can remind him that he is to blame for everything.

When he passes these exams, he can be Old Ricky again, and everything can be fine.

That's if he can finish these chapters. He must have read them five, six times in the last 24 hours, but it doesn't feel like enough. All the work in the world won't make up for the fact his whole class have been studying this for six months, and he's had less than three to catch up.

He needs an A+ in History. History has always been one of his best subjects, to the point that even an A classes as failure. He needs this grade, and he needs all these fucking words to go into his head.

Everything is a frenzy. The clock in the hall ticks incessantly, moving towards 1:30 at a rate that seems much too fast to be real. When his friends left him he had over an hour, and now the clock reads ten minutes. He doesn't know where the time went, or why he can hear the buzzing of the lights. He doesn't know why he's sweating and shivering and struggling to catch his breath. He can practically feel the vibrations of the bell ready to ring, sealing his fate.

He only vaguely acknowledges his friends' return, nodding at them without tearing his eyes off the book. If he looked up, he'd see the fear in Ayesha's gaze, or the frantic look the twins are sharing. He's too out of it to scream at Kat when she puts a hand on his shoulder, not in the headspace to remind her that physical contact makes him feel sick.

He's staring at his textbook right up to the moment the teacher drops the test paper onto his desk and announces that it's time to begin.

He's set almost at ease by the first question. It's on the chapter he's read and reread the most, and he could confidently answer it in his sleep.

He still can't block out the sound of the clock, but now he's having the exact opposite problem - instead of minutes passing at lightning speed, each second passes sluggishly, drawn out and sedate in a way that makes Ricky want to scream. He can't will his hands to move fast enough, his pen refusing to form words. He knows exactly what he wants to say, but his body is dragging so slow behind his mind that he can't get it down on paper.

The stabbing sensation in his gut has diminished to a weak roar, solid and steady. It's no longer enough to keep him on his toes, and combined with the drooping weight of his eyelids, is enough to lull him out of consciousness.

It takes him a moment to realise he's no longer awake.

Looking around him, he's still in the classroom, still surrounded by the other students taking this test. The nauseating sound of scratching pencils still fills the air and he still catches his friends casting their eyes over to him, one by one as if in sequence. It's only when he tries to keep writing that he realises this is… a dream? A nightmare? Some sort of fugue state?

His pen hovers above the exam paper. The words are blurring together, twisting, sliding, dissolving into nothing at the edges of each letter, and his hands suddenly feel heavier than lead. They fall to the desk and he can no longer lift them. Panic sets in as his skin seems to fuse with the tabletop itself.

Everything around him dissolves, as piece by piece the world he's built slips away. Small parts at a time - a picture on the wall, or the pens on the teacher's desk, vanishing every couple of seconds until it's like they were never there at all. It gets worse when the people start to fade. First it's nameless peers, but before long even his friends start to evanesce. He tries to call out, but his mouth is sealed shut. The same way his hands have locked with the plastic of his desk, his back is stuck to the chair and his feet to the ground.

Even the atmosphere is leaving now, until all that remains is Ricky in a vast expanse of pale grey, foggy nothingness.

Unable to move, escape, or scream, he's left with the suffocating sounds of emptiness, he feels a tear slip down his cheek. It's all he has to feel—

Until he's shaken awake.

His teacher is staring at him, fond concern painted across her features.

"Ricky, honey? It's three."

He snaps back to consciousness and stares around frantically, horrified at the realisation it's just him and Mrs. Riley in the room, until he fully wakes and realises that the bell has rung and all the students have left to go home.

"My test." Looking down, noticing that he managed less than half a paragraph before passing out for well over an hour, a sickly feeling of dread spreads through him.

"It's okay, Ricky. This doesn't make up your grade for the year, your class work is fine. You can pass the year without this."

"No no no, you don't understand, I have to—"

" _ Ricky."  _ Her voice is soft, laced with a pity that makes him want to puke. "Go home and get some rest. I think you're sick."

"I need to do this test, or—"

"You can make it up after break if you really need. Go home, honey."

He knows he can't win this fight, and rises unsteadily to his feet. He can feel his eyes starting to well up, a hot prickling sensation at the base of his skull. He leaves the room on shaky legs, the twins catching him in the hall.

"Can I hug you?" Lily asks sweetly, her wide eyes shining with worry.

"No thanks." He chokes out, uncomfortable and stressing still over the failure of this afternoon. "I'm sorry, I feel…"

"It's cool." Eric hurries to add. "Dude, I think you should get some dinner. You don't look well."

"I'm just tired. I think I'm gonna… I think I'm gonna get an Uber back to the house and get some sleep."

The two of them try to reason with him, but he shakes them off.

He knows he shouldn't be pushing his friends away, of course. They're all he really has here, and when his report card comes through and his mom makes his life a living hell he'll need all the positivity he can get. But in this exact moment he doesn't want to spread his own self-pitying distress onto the people he cares about.

"It's fine, guys. I'll see you tomorrow."

He doesn't let them fight it as he walks away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have no idea if this chapter is any good because honestly: i don't remember writing it
> 
> but here this is ! i'm sorry for making ricky suffer, he's my emotional support character and writing this story helps me deal with shit
> 
> ALSO: i'm making a playlist that works alongside this fic so if u have any song suggestions or want the link pls lmk !!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> josh played a full version of easily replaced on a live, i listened to my losing sleep playlist for the first time in months, and here we are !
> 
> cw / body image, discussion of weight loss, discussion of disordered eating, discussion of panic attacks, ? (let me know if this needs any other warnings)

He wakes from a nap to the rumbling of the 10 o'clock news below him. He passed out as soon as he got in after that awful test, and it's now late enough that he can't justifiably make any dinner.

It doesn't bother him as much as it should.

He pulls himself out of bed with a groan, the ache in his ribs confirming that he must have fallen asleep in his binder. Stumbling across the room towards his pyjamas, he makes the mistake of glancing in the mirror. It stops him dead in his tracks.

The boy reflected in front of him is, to an extent, noticeably himself. Understandably sleep-mussed hair aside, he looks like the Ricky Bowen he's come to recognise over the years. His eyes are his own, his nose and mouth familiar enough. He stands as tall as he always has, and he's as fidgety as ever. Yes, each individual facet of his person comes together to make up the self that he knows, but it sickens him to realise that he doesn't recognise any of it.

Before he has any time to think better of it, he strips down to his binder and boxers.

It hits almost immediately that he's, physically, a shadow of himself. He takes up far less space than he used to, and he can count every space between his visible ribs. The ghosts of his bones press through near-translucent pale skin, and his waist is narrower than he's ever known it. He's always been skinny, but there were always traces of athleticism on his thin frame - slight abs, a certain broadens - that are now invisible.

Tracing his eyes all the way up from his thighs (so small that he can see muscles he didn't know he had), past his hips (bonier than he thought possible), to his stomach (concave in a way that makes him nauseous), and over his jaw (defined, too much so), his gaze comes to settle at his own eyes. Even ignoring the deep, dark bags beneath them that allude to weeks of sleepless nights, he can see the aftershocks of the last few months in his irises. They're still brown, of course, but the flecks of gold that used to dance within them have vanished. They're bordering on  _ grey,  _ a lifeless stare that could just as easily belong on a corpse.

In short, he looks exhausted. He looks  _ sick.  _ He looks like a caricature of someone who's struggling, and it strikes him yet again that neither Todd nor his mother have noticed any of this.

Stale air rattles in his lungs at the realisation that he doesn't recognise himself.

The boy staring back at him could be anyone, some totally forgettable stranger in the street. And, thinking about it, the same could be said for his personality. He's losing all discernable aspects of himself, every trace of the Ricky he's carefully crafted over the last sixteen years fading away into nothingness as the oppressive weight of his situation bears down on him.

He begins to wonder when the last time he truly felt like himself was. Every recent memory is tainted by some panic attack, or skipped meal, or night spent tossing and turning and begging for sleep to take him. Even when he's been out having fun with his friends there's been a storm cloud above his head, a backing voice at the base of his skull reminding him that all of this is a performance from a kid whose entire life is over.

It should have been obvious that this would happen. You can't just transplant an entire human from one state to another at a moment's notice without it taking a toll. Most of him, the core of his being, still resides in Utah. This figure standing in a too-small Chicago bedroom is a shell, one his mother has been desperately trying to fill with newer, better personality traits ever since the move.

Swaying on shaky legs, he turns away to pull off his binder and shrug on a pyjama shirt. When changed, he swivels back to the mirror and takes in the sight again. 

The shirt, once fitted, now hangs loosely off him. The grey fabric blends in with his colourless skin, drawing attention to quite how dead he looks.

He feels like an unfinished drawing. It's as if somebody sketched out an idea and got bored before it came time to colour it in - a fully formed human not quite complete.

Is he ever going to feel normal again? Will this ever go away? Or will he continue to fade away, weight falling off and hope draining away until there's nothing left at all? Fear wells up behind his eyes as he worries that he might never make it home again - if he keeps going at this rate, he'll have disappeared completely long before it comes time to graduate from Redlands.

Any anger he usually feels towards his sorry state of being has gone. At one point, he might have longed to punch the boy in the mirror, but now all he can feel is pity. He wants someone to come along and fix him, to put everything back together just as it should be and make it so Ricky can look in the mirror and smile at the familiar face staring back. It seems unlikely - impossible, even. Unless someone notices soon, he's probably going to fade away completely.

He flops back into his blankets and allows the bed to swallow him whole. He feels his body sink deeper, deeper, deeper, into the darkest recesses of his own imagination.

It doesn't feel like a mattress anymore. It feels like a coffin, like the walls are closing in and he's being buried under the weight of the earth. Lying there, stock still, he wonders if it's a sign. He wonders if the ghost in the mirror will soon be just that.

For the first time in his life, he thinks with lucid certainty that he  _ doesn't want to be here _ . He doesn't want people to see his shadowy form walking down the halls. He doesn't want to fight the battles thrown his way. He doesn't want to fight to claw his way out of the pit of nothingness that he's fallen into in recent months.

He wants it all to stop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is this good? no. is it too short? yes. but sometimes breakdown hours hit at 3am and u gotta project onto ur favourite sad white boy
> 
> as always i: hate my writing, but recently i've started rlly missing this story and i found my notebook with the chapter plans for it so hey ho ! only took three months for me to release more mediocre rambling ✨
> 
> there's seven more chapters planned for this, let's see whether i can actually write all of them before my motivation disappears and i get too sad to write again lol
> 
> maybe comment what u thought about this ? idk i'm STRESSED i haven't updated this in ages and i'm worried nobody gives a shit anymore lol

**Author's Note:**

> please leave any feedback if you have it bc i am ## insecure about my writing


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